;  aMJUaitML.  fc,v^t  W 

Co  « '     * 


- 


W1, 


Tor  hjim  \ws  levere  have  dt  hys TBedd 
Txxent^'Bookes  ckd  in^Bldk  or 
Of  Aristotle  dud  h\sl° 


X 


MAURICE  AND   BERGHETTA ; 


OR,  THE 


PRIEST  OF  RAEEEY. 


MAURICE    AND    BERGHETTA; 


OR,    THE 


A  TALE. 


BOSTON  : 

WELLS   AND  LILLY,   COURT-STREET. 
1820. 


DEDICATION. 

TO  THE 

CATHOLIC  PRIESTHOOD 

OF  IRELAND. 
GENTLEMEN, 

I  AM  glad  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
giving  a  public,  though  small  mark  of 
respect  to  men,  whose  merits  have  always 
appeared  to  me  equal  to  their  privations. 
This  is  a  very  large  compliment  ;  for 
these  privations  have  indeed  been  great. 
We  may  however  begin  to  speak  of  them 
without  bitterness,  for  their  end  is  clearly 
approaching;  the  bigotry,  which  darken- 
ed the  understanding  of  the  Irish  Govern- 
ment, has  passed  away  ;  and  it  is  not  likely 
that  the  Government  should  continue  to 
reject  a  body  of  men,  on  whom  the  civili- 
zation and  subordination  of  the  lower 
orders  in  Ireland  depends.  But  when  the 

A* 


VI 


exclusion  of  your  body  from  the  rights  01 
civil  society  shall  cease,  the  peculiarities 
of  manner  and  character,  which  distin- 
guished it  in  adversity,  will  disappear 
also. 

There  is  something,  however,  every  in- 
teresting in  these  national  and  professional 
features,  though  they  are  merely  Irish  ; 
arid  before  they  are  quite  forgotten,  this 
attempt  is  made  to  fix  and  embody  them 
in  the  description  of  an  Irish  priest,  such 
as  may  have  existed  a  century  ago.  I  am 
afraid,  that  he  will  not  be  thought  quite 
orthodox,  at  least  by  that  large  description 
of  Christians,  which  exists  among  Catholics, 
as  well  as  among  every  other  religious 
sect,  who  value  the  Church  more  than  the 
Gospel.  Allowance  ought  however  to  be 
made  for  a  Protestant  writer,  who  does  his 
best  to  reconcile  differences,  believing 
that  the  time  is  fast  approaching,  when  the 
great  foundation  principles,  the  warmth, 
the  sincerity,  and  the  benevolence  of  re- 
ligion, will  be  so  prevalent,  that  the  present 
differences,  which  have  been  exalted  into 
disproportioned  importance  by  controver- 


Vll 


sy,  will  be  as  little  regarded  as  the  differ- 
ences respecting  meats,  which  divided  the 
Church  in  its  early  ages. 

The  character  of  your  Clergy  will  in 
future  partake  more  of  that  of  the  upper 
orders  of  society,  yet  perhaps  it  will  be 
intrinsically  less  amiable,  than  that  of  the 
age  which  the  following  pages  represent. 
— -You  have  hitherto  remained  in  peace- 
ful and  useful  obscurity,  safe  from  the 
contamination  of  the  Castle  and  the  Vati- 
can ;  and  it  would  be  difficult  to  say  in 
which  of  these  petty  courts,  the  foulest 
traffic  to  corrupt  the  purity  of  individual 
principle  has  been  carried  on.  But  now 
you  have  acquired  sufficient  value  to  be 
worth  being  purchased  ;  nor  can  your 
Church  hope  to  escape  the  certain  con- 
tamination of  influence,  but  in  the  measure 
of  the  domestic  nomination  of  your  Hie- 
rarchy. 

This  principle,  happily  begun,  must 
raise  your  Church  to  an  eminence  of  piety 
and  talent,  far  beyond  that  of  the  Protes- 
tant or  any  other  Church,  where  the  inter- 
est of  politicians  is  allowed  to  influence 


VII 1 

the  choice  of  the  chief  servants  of  reli- 
gion ;  this  measure  can  alone  ensure,  that 
with  the  manners  and  mental  cultivation 
of  a  more  refined  age  your  pastors  may 
preserve  the  simpicity  and  purity  of  the 
Priest  of  Rahery. 

The  intercourse,  Gentlemen,  which  I 
have  had  with  very  many  of  your  body, 
has  impressed  me  with  sentiments  of  the 
deepest  esteem,  which  I  cannot  express 
better  than  by  the  wish,  that  the  Catholic 
Priesthood,  in  its  constitution  and  destina- 
tion, may  be  neither  English,  Roman,  nor 
Italian,  but  Christian  and  Irish. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


INTRODUCTION. 


1  HOUGH  no  one,  who  appears  as  an  author,  can 
hope  to  free  himself  from  the  charge  of  being 
actuated  by  a  love  of  distinction  ;  yet  the  writer 
of  the  present  work  is  conscious,  that  there  are 
grounds  for  extenuation. 

He  scarcely  remembers  the  time,  when  a  pas- 
sion for  his  native  country,  and  a  painful  com- 
miseration of  the  deplorable  state  of  the  peasantry 
in  Ireland,  were  not  the  strongest  feelings  in  his 
breast.  When  very  young,  these  were  very  acute  ; 
and  even  now  the  miseries,  which  every  where 
surround  him,  would  make  a  residence  in  Ireland 
too  melancholy  to  be  endured,  but  for  the  hope 
and  exertion,  which  still  suggest  a  flattering  belief, 
that  their  end  is  approaching. 

The  squalid  appearance  of  the  peasantry,  and 
their  horrid  habitations,  are  sights  that  his  eyes 
never  get  accustomed  to  ;  though  a  short  resi- 
dence in  Ireland  makes  most  people  inattentive  to 
them  :  he  seems  forced  on  to  a  study  of  these  de- 
tails of  wretchedness,  till  so  pained  with  the  recur- 
rence of  the  idea  of  suffering,  that  any  exertion 
with  a  chance  of  mitigating,  it  becomes  a  relief. 
Like  the  nightingale  that  is  safd  to  lean  its  breast 
against  a  thorn,  that  sleep  miy  not  interrupt  its 


song,  this  aching  pity  for  poor  Ireland  has  kept 
him  constantly  thinking,  studying,  writing,  talking, 
in  hopes  that  by  exertion  or  good  fortune  he 
might  be  the  means  of  bettering  her  condition. 
One  claim,  at  least,  to  attention  he  may  be  allowed, 
which  is  having  minutely,  carefully,  and  unremit- 
tingly studied  the  subject. 

To  the  governing  powers  he  of  course  has  ap- 
plied, but  not  very  often,  as  every  little  chance  of 
success  with  them  would  be  lost  by  importunity. 
But  success,  indeed,  he  never  had  to  boast  of, 

English  strangers,  when  they  first  come  to  Ire- 
land, are  invariably  surprised  and  shocked  at  the 
misery  of  the  lower  orders  ;  but  their  eyes  soon 
become  accustomed  to  the  sight,  and  they  acquire 
an  obduracy  and  indifference  on  the  subject  greater 
than  exist  in  those  who  always  reside  there. 

Neither  do  the  official  men  sent  from  England 
form  any  exception  to  the  general  rule.  These 
at  first  are  solicitous  to  devise  remedies  for  the 
misery  that  it  is  new  to  them  ;  but  they  are  soon 
hardened  by  the  unfeeling  society,  in  whose  nar- 
row circle  they  pass  their  time  ;  they  eat  pine- 
apples, drink  champaign,  shoot  woodcocks,  are 
assiduously  flattered,  and  feeling  themselves  very 
well  off,  forget  how  other  people  suffer. 

Matters  have  grown  worse,  since  certain  max- 
ims of  political  economy  have  become  prevalent. 
Those  who  espouse  these  opinions  do  not  perceive, 
that  the  maxim  of  government  not  interfering,  is 
good  only  when  consistent  and  general ;  that  there 
is  neither  political  nor  economical  wisdom  in  first 


XI 

reducing  a  country  to  ruin,  persevering  in  those 
measures  of  violent  interference  which  have 
brought  it  to  ruin,  and  then,  when  applied  to  for 
exertions  to  mitigate,  or  remedy,  saying,  "  it  is 
very  inexpedient  for  government  to  interfere." 

A  country  that  has  been  depressed  by  active 
interference  may  surely  claim  to  be  advanced  by 
some  greater  exertion  on  the  part  of  government, 
than  if  the  order  of  society,  and  the  course  of 
individual  industry,  had  never  been  interrupted. 
At  present  every  application  for  relief,  is  answer- 
ed by  a  maxim  of  political  economy. 

So  that  to  exact  money  from  a  distressed  peo- 
ple, to  tax  to  the  utmost  extreme,  and  distrain 
when  the  tax  is  not  to  be  had  ;  all  this  is  very 
allowable  :  but  to  give,  relieve,  or  remit,  is  quite 
contrary  to  all  wise  principles. 

When  the  Irish  administration  is  called  on  to 
advance  the  education  of  the  lower  orders,  to 
abate  a  tax,  or  to  give  a  stimulus  to  industry,  it  is 
not  sufficient  to  turn  to  Adam  Smith,  and  say, 
"  look  at  this  chapter  ;  it  is  best  not  to  interfere  :" 
as  long  as  it  can  be  plainly  shown,  that  the  minds 
of  the  people  have  been  degraded,  and  the  desire 
to  better  their  condition  (from  which  all  industry 
takes  its  origin)  has  been  paralyzed  by  the  inter- 
ference of  government. 

This  affectation  in  the  Irish  administration  of 
a  dread  of  interfering  where-  any  good  is  to  be 
done,  whilst  the  whole  country  is  a  scene  of  dis- 
tress from  the  violence  with  which  the  order  of 
society  is  broken,  throws  an  air  of  ridicule  over 


XI 1 


the  proceedings  of  the  governing  power.  Thus, 
last  year,  when  the  obvious  measures  for  arresting 
the  progress  of  the  typhus  fever  in  Ireland  (now 
at  length  adopted)  were  first  proposed :  "  What !" 
cried  the  Irish  administration,  "  sanction  so  gross 
an  invasion  of  the  liberty  of  the  subject,  as  to 
give  a  power  to  enter  a  poor  man's  house,  and 
make  a  window  in  it  ?  What !  take  up  the  poor, 
and  immure  them  in  hospitals ;  and  stop  the  free 
march  of  a  beggar,  though  his  cloak  and  bag  may 
spread  infection  from  house  to  house  !  What  un- 
heard of  interference  !" 

And  yet  this  administration  had  not  only  inter- 
fered, so  far  as  to  maintain  all  political  power  and 
valuable  patronage  in  the  hands  of  a  small  minor- 
ity of  the  nation,  while  the  great  majority  was 
excluded  from  hope  and  enterprise  ;  but,  in  pur- 
suance of  this  disturbing  system,  they  had  neces- 
sarily been  led  to  interfere  so  much  farther,  as  to 
punish  all  individuals,  who  were  found  out  of  their 
houses  after  nine  o'clock,  with  transportation  to 
Botany  Bay :  and  under  the  name  of  police  "peace 
preservation,"  and  the  disguise  of  brown  coats,  to 
establish  a  military  force  in  the  provinces,  acting 
without  even  the  benefit  of  military  law.  Really, 
to  hear  the  supporters  of  such  a  system  assume  a 
zeal  for  liberty,  is  like  a  Chinese  parent,  who 
puts  his  child's  feet  in  a  compress,  and  then  says, 
"  Now  go,  and  dance  about  as  much  as  you  like." 

It  is  the  same  with  regard  to  education.  If  you 
apply  to  the  Irish  administration  to  exert  itself,  and 
advance  ever  so  trifling  a  fund,  it  repeats  a  maxim 
it  has  lately  learned,  that  the  moment  government 
advances  any  money,  all  private  subscription  ceas- 


X11I 


es.  It  does  not  consider,  that  it  has  rendered  the 
country  so  poor,  and  its  inhabitants  so  spiritless, 
that  the  amount  of  this  private  Fuhscription  is 
quite  insignificant,  and  perfectly  imcompetent  to 
the  great  object  :  and  therefore  any  consideration 
of  its  increase  or  decrease  at  the  present  moment, 
cannot  excuse  the  inactivity  of  the  Irish  ministry, 
and  its  apparent  indifference  to  civilize  the  minds 
of  a  people  reduced  to  this  state. 

But  the  most  lamentable  misapplication  of  this 
doctrine  of  noninterference  has  been  in  the  case  of 
the  famine  and  fever,  which  have  desolated  Ireland. 
Not  less  than  a  million  of  people  have  been  total- 
ly ruined  by  these  dreadful  scourges,  of  whom  at 
least  one  hundred  thousand  have  died*  :  and  these 
under  every  circumstance  of  horror — exposed  in 
ditches !  in  open  fields  !  by  the  road  sides !  whole 
districts  without  any  medical  or  charitable  assis- 
tance. Repeated  instances  have  occurred  of 
whole  families  perishing  unknown  and  without 
help.  And  you  see  every  where  cabins  fallen 
down,  where  you  are  told,  the  family  died  of  the 
feverf  !  And  this  must  necessarily  have  been  the 
case,  for  when  the  whole  family  were  ill,  which 


*  We  must  not  be  deceived  by  the  flattering  returns  of 
the  public  hospitals.  It  is  not  in  these,  but  upon  the  re- 
turn to  insufficient  nourishment,  and  the  filth  of  their  ca- 
bin, that  the  numerous  deaths  of  those  discharged  take 
place  from  relapses. 

f  It  is  difficult  to  bring  an  idea  of  national  misery 
strongly  home  to  the  feelings  of  the  public.  It  is  too  im- 
patient of  details,  and  is  not  to  be  moved  by  general 
description:  among  a  multitude  of  others,  the  two  following 
instances  are  selected  from  letters  addressed  to  and  pub" 


frequently  occurred,  they  had  no  support  but  such 
casual  supply  as  might  be  left  by  a  neighbour  on 
the  outside  of  the  door,  or  was  put  in  on  a  long 


lished  in  the  Eighth  Report  of  the  Sunday  School  Socie- 
ty ;  for  as  the  facts  are  mentioned  only  incidentally,  they 
may  be  safely  relied  on. 

BERAGH.     Co.  of  Tyrone. 

Qih  Dec.   1817. 

0  In  addition  to  poverty,  fever  has  raged.  Great  num- 
bers have  already  fallen ;  some  families,  consisting  of 
many  branches,  are  nearly  extinct,  others  deprived  of 
their  most  useful  members ;  helpless  infant  orphans  left 
destitute,  and  multitudes  still  under  the  disease.  The 
wretched  victims  of  want  and  disease  are  in  many  cases 
left  to  languish  in  lingering  and  protracted  torments, 
without  an  eye  to  pity,  or  a  hand  to  save.  On  some  oc- 
casions, people  can  scarcely  be  found  to  put  the  dead  in- 
to a  coffin,  or  the  coffin  into  a  grave.  80  familiar  has 
death  become,  that  the  passenger  can  listen,  apparently 
unmoved,  to  the  wailings  of  the  sick,  or  the  groans  of  the 
dying,  anxious  only  for  personal  safety.  That  this  is  no 
exaggerated  statement,  may  be  readily  conceived,  by  con- 
sidering, that  in  consequence  of  the  prevalence  of  fever, 
no  service  has  been  in  the  parish  church  for  some  months 
past." 

JEDD.     Co.  of  Fermanagh. 

12th  Jan.  1818,' 

"  The  fever  raged  so  high,  that  we  were  obliged  to  dis- 
miss our  school  early  in  September  last  ;  we  opened  it 
the  first  Sunday  in  "November,  but  had  to  close  again. 
We  intend  to  open  the  first  Sunday  in  March,  if  our  lives 
are  spared.  The  distemper  is  raging  ;  the  cries  of  wid- 
ows and  orphans  are  very  affecting.  The  grave  yards  are 
ploughed  :  red  carts  and  cars  are  employed  to  earrj  ofl 
the  dead  :  and  all  relief  by  friends  and  neighbours  to  the 
unhappy  sufferers  is  refused,  A  poor  woman  and  her  Ii 


XV 

handled  shovel — so  that  when  they  became  unable 
to  rise,  or  if  no  assistance  was  at  hand,  they  must 
have  perished  from  want  of  sustenance,  as  well  as 
from  disease.  There  being  no  legal  provision  for 
the  poor  in  Ireland,  no  assistance  whatever  to  save 
a  poor  person  perishing  from  want — made  the  sit- 
uation of  the  sick  more  perilous  ;  as  there  are  no 
parish  officers,  there  is  no  person  whose  business 
it  is  officially  to  inquire  into  the  state  of  the  poor. 
Miserably  inadequate  to  the  relief  of  this  great 
calamity  was  the  assistance,  which  the  reduced 
number  of  the  Irish  gentry  could  afford.  They 
did  exert  themselves  most  meritoriously.  The 
absentee  proprietors,  with  a  few  splendid  excep- 
tions, did  little  or  nothing  ;  and  here,  as  in  the 
case  of  the  local  disturbances  of  the  country,  the 
deplorable  effect  of  the  Union,  in  banishing  the 
resident  proprietors,  was  sensibly  felt.  The  ines- 
timable value  of  an  old  resident  gentry  was  per- 
ceived in  its  loss  ;  it  was  seen,  that  it  could  not  be 
compensated  by  any  sudden  rise  of  trade  and  mer- 
chants ;  and  all  this  nonsense  of  the  political  econ- 
omists and  advocates  of  the  Union  was  at  length 
justly  appreciated.  Whole  districts  suffered  under 
the  cruel  alternative  of  famine  and  fever,  without 
the  smallest  medical  or  charitable  assistance,  or 
without  an  inquiry  being  made  into  their  situation. 


tie  son  of  five  years  old  were  refused  access  to  any  house  ; 
and  night  coining  on,  she  took  shelter  under  a  car,  in  a  gra- 
vel pit,  and  ]\\  2  a  true.  mother,took  offher  flannel  petticoat, 
wrapped  it  round  the  little  object  of  her  care,  put  him  in  her 
bosom  and  lay  down  and  died.  In  the  morning,  a  man  enquir- 
ed how  she  was  ;  the  child  replied, that  she  had  fallen  asleep, 
and  that  he  could  not  wake  her.  Many  suchlike  instan- 
ces of  distress  have  occurred  in  our  neighbourhood  this 
season.  O  what  a  tiine  is  this  '." 


XVI 

Ail  this  time,  the  Irish  administration  adhered 
to  its  cold  pedantry,  and  with  such  implicit  belief 
in  its  Adam  Smith,  that  it  must  he  freed  from  any 
hlame  of  personal  want  of  feeling,  or  mal-intention. 
It  took  care  also,  to  give  sufficient  relief  to  save  its 
credit  :  but  pretty  much  upon  the  same  principle 
as  a  friend  of  the  Author,  who  devised  a  means  to 
free  himself  from  the  importunity  of  itinerant  beg- 
gars, and  yet  preserve  his  character  for  charity. 
He  lived  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  road  side. 
and  to  every  beggar  that  came  he  always  gave  one 
halfpenny  ;  the  beggars,  finding  that  one  halfpen- 
ny did  not  recompense  the  time  and  trouble  o( 
walking  half  a  mile,  soon  made  very  rare  visits. 

Thus  the  Irish  administration  devoted  to  the 
relief  of  the  horrible  distresses  of  the  year  1817 
a  sum  of  £8,000.  For  the  relief  of  a  population 
of  many  millions,  suffering  the  worst  extreme  of 
famine,  and  reduced  to  feed  upon  charlock  and 
other  weeds  !  for  the  succeeding  year,  (when  Par- 
liament purchased  the  Elgin  marbles  and  Dr. 
Burney's  library,)  when  the  fever  was  at  its  height, 
£15,000  were  all  it  destined  to  the  relief  of  this 
worst  calamity  ;  and  these  sums  were  dealt  out  in 
wretched  pittances  of  £30  for  whole  parishes, 
(unless  a  person  of  influence  applied,)  and  subject 
to  all  the  forms  and  delays  of  solicitation. 


But  these  evils,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  are 
rary.  The  ponderous  mischief,  that  constantly 
weighs  down  Ireland,  exists  in  the  laws  which 
injuriously  distinguish  Catholics  from  Protestants. 
These,  by  giving  the  Protestants  a  factitious  pre- 
eminence, have  rendered  them  ostentatious,  ex- 
travagant, expensive  beyond  their  means,  and,  by 


XVII 

a  certain  consequence,  corrupted  and  dependent 
on  government.  These,  by  violently  depressing 
the  Catholics,  have  degraded  what  may  be  con- 
sidered as  the  public  mind  and  character  of  Ire- 
land— suppressing  all  demand  for  the  public  activ- 
ity and  intelligence  of  this  prominent  part  of  the 
nation,  they  have  struck  at  the  very  existence  of 
these  qualities,  while  they  have  nearly  annihilated 
all  public  honour  and  honesty,  by  making  them  not 
essential  in  Protestants,  and  of  no  avail  in  Catho- 
lics. 

Nothing  can  more  strongly  prove,  that,  so  long 
as  the  oppression  of  the  Catholics  is  continued  in 
Ireland,    all  efforts  of  melioration  are   nugatory, 
than   the  result  of  Mr.   Peel's  administration  in 
Ireland.      We   mention   it   with   reluctance,  for, 
though  a  succeeding  age  will  deem  it  very  oppres- 
sive, our  habits  were  reconciled  to  it ;  and  it  was 
dealt  in  so  very  courteous  a  measure,   that  we 
were  inclined  to  return  thanks   for  the  civility, 
with  which  we  were  shut  out  of  doors.     The  pol- 
ish of  the  weapon  was  so  fine,  that  life  was  fled 
before  we  perceived  the  wound.     We  were  like 
the  Pelew  Islander,  whose  thoughts,  while  he  lay 
dying  at  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  were  engaged  in 
admiring  the  complexion  of  the  man  who  had  shot 
him.     Let  us  be  just  to  Mr.  Peel ;  he  possessed 
a  great  deal  of  good  intention,  an  admirable  free- 
dom from  all  sordid  interest,  and  a  mind  naturally 
inclining  to  liberal  and  wise  government ;  and  if 
he  had  not  lately  betrayed  something  of  too  strong 
a  bias  to  government  influence,  and  to  the  court, 
in   the  cases  of  the  Custos  Rotulorum,  and  the 
Custos  Regis,  there  is  no  one  in  whose  political 
success  (Catholic  Emancipation  once  granted)  we 
could  take  a  warmer  sympathy. 


XVI 11 

Now  though  there  was  much  good  intention  oil 
Mr.  Peel's  part,  and  an  example  of  great  activity 
and  attention  given  and  followed  through  every 
department  of  government,  yet,  while  this  griev- 
ous sore  was  exasperated,  these  political  balsams 
and  liniments  were  mere  quackery.  The  head 
of  the  canker  was  seared,  but  its  roots  spread  ; 
faction,  party -spirit,  discontent,  and  alienation 
from  the  English  Government  increased  to  a  de- 
gree, that  was  remarkable  even  in  a  country 
where  they  always  abounded.  But  the  mournful 
and  hopeless  distress,  to  which  all  ranks  of  society 
were  reduced,  has  scarcely  been  paralleled  in 
countries  laid  waste  by  military  force.  Let  any 
one  read  the  reports  of  the  four  physicians  sent  to 
examine  into  the  state  of  disease  ;  and,  though 
they  were  made  with  something  of  travelling  ce- 
lerity, and  an  air  of  extenuation  appears  through- 
out, sufficient  facts  escape,  to  mark  the  magnitude 
of  this  horrid  calamity. 

But  it  will  immediately  be  said,  why  make  Mr, 
Peel  accountable  for  the  effects  of  the  atmosphere 
and  the  seasons  ?  What  has  his  administration  to 
do  with  famine  and  fever  ?  Nothing  certainly,  if 
these  evils  arose  entirely  from  the  inclemency  of 
the  times  and  seasons ;  but  if  the  intolerable  de- 
gree of  these  evils  had  their  origin  in  the  want 
of  foresight,  of  prudence,  and  of  accumulation, 
which  always  characterizes  an  oppressed  and  de- 
graded people,  then  his  administration  must  have 
had  a  very  great  concern  in  producing  these 
deplorable  effects. 

As  Maurice  observes,  when  we  see  a  miserable 
aiad  wretched  people  with  depressed  minds  and 


XIX 

indolent  habits,  we  do  not  ascribe  their  poverty  to 
the  men  who  govern  them  ;  but  no  one,  that  sees 
a  mangy,  half-starved  flock  of  sheep,  ever  doubts 
that  it  is  the  fault  of  the  farmer,  to  whom  it  be- 
longs. 

This  is  not  exactly  the  place  to  introduce  a  sys- 
tem of  political  economy,  especially  a  new  one,  or 
the  author  would  urge  at  length,  that  the  wealth 
and  prosperity  of  a  country  depend  for  improve- 
ment on  the  improvement  of  the  minds  of  the 
inhabitants  ;  that  attention  to  appearance,  a  desire 
of  comforts,  enterprise,  a  free  and  hardy  spirit, 
sober,  temperate  habits,  prudence,  and  fore- 
thought, are  the  materials  on  which  we  should 
ground  the  wealth  of  nations,  and  not  merely  upon 
such  commercial  and  financial  prosperity,  as  is 
attempted  by  the  short  sighted  political  economy 
of  modern  times.  If  this  be  true,  can  we  be  sur- 
prised, that  a  system  of  government,  founded  upon 
the  depression  of  four  fifths  of  the  inhabitants  of 
a  nation,  should  have  found  no  resources  in  times 
of  distress,  but  should  have  ended  in  an  extreme 
of  national  suffering  ? 

Let  not  Mr.  Peel  consider  this  as  the  language 
of  hostility  ;  so  far  as  the  Author  is  personally 
concerned,  he  is  anxious  that  this  gentleman 
should  learn  to  look  back  on  his  Irish  administra- 
tion with  some  degree  of  compunction,  and  that 
the  future  part  he  probably  will  hold  in  the  Eng- 
lish administration  may  be  of  a  more  benevolent 
and  equitable  cast. 

Mr.  Peel  is  himself  too  candid  not  to  excuse 
Kim,  and  remember,  that 


x-y 


44  Friendship  by  sweet,  reproof  is  shown. " 

To  return  to  the  Tale  before  us,  the  character 
of  Maurice,  he  fears,  will  be  thought  exaggerated 
by  English  readers. — Yet  it  is  drawn  from  nature  ; 
from  a  person  who  not  many  years  ago  was  a 
ploughman,  but  who  by  his  merits  has  obtained 
the  esteem  of  every  one  that  has  employed  him, 
and  his  wife  might  bear  comparison  with  Ber- 
ghetta. 

Englishmen  scarcely  credit  the  accounts  given 
of  the  intelligence  of  the  Irish.  Even  certain 
reviewers,  who  are  tolerably  conversant  with  Irish 
matters,  do  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  ambitious 
style  of  the  conversation  of  peasant  wits  in  Ire- 
land, and  esteem  the  asseveration,  which  Miss 
Edge  worth  puts  in  the  mouth  of  an  Irish  genius, 
"by  the  pride  of  man,  and  the  vanity  of  woman," 
as  above  the  reach  of  rustic  style.  Yet  no  one 
conversant  with  this  class  of  society  in  Ireland 
would  think  so. 

There  would  be  less  hesitation  in  admitting 
such  facts,  if  writers,  who'  treat  on  Irish  affairs, 
would  take  more  pains  to  discover  and  explain  the 
causes  of  these  variations  from  the  usual  course 
of  society  and  manners  in  England. 

Perhaps  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  account  for 
the  conversational  wit,  intelligence,  and  suavity 
of  manner,  which  the  Irish  possess  in  a  superior 
degree  to  the  English  peasantry. 

The  English  peasantry  may  be  pretty  generally 
considered  as  a  domestic  race  of  people — they 


XXI 


have  the  virtues  of  domestic  habits,  and  the  defects, 
if  they  may  be  called  so,  of  a  want  of  vivacity 
and  conversation. 

On  the  whole  their  character  is  well  adapted  to 
their  station  of  life,  and  they  are  pretty  much  what 
one  would  wish  a  religious  and  industrious  peas- 
antry to  be. 

On  the  contrary,  the  habits  of  the  Irish  peasan- 
try are  all  anti-domestic  ;  they  miss  no  opportuni- 
of  being  in  society,  and  these  perpetually  occur  5 
hence  the  habit  of  conversation  and  art  of  man- 
ners are  familiar  to  them. 

Irish  merry  meetings  of  the  lower  ranks,  though 
they  may  differ  in  the  polish  of  the  detail,  have  the 
same  general  effects  as  the  more  fashionable  as- 
semblies of  the  higher  ranks  ;  funerals,  wakes,  and 
saints'  days,  though  they  have  duty  for  their  pre- 
tence, are  all  a  species  of  route  ;  and  when  to 
these  fairs,  markets,  races,  occasional  parties  for 
a  fight,  hurling,  or  football  match,  and  several 
night  dances  and  card  assemblies  in  each  parish 
are  added,  and  all  eagerly  attended,  it  may  easily 
be  conceived,  that  an  Irish  peasant  is  rather  more 
sociable  and  polished  than  befits  his  station. 

The  causes  which  lead  to  this  disturbance,  as 
it  must  be  considered  in  the  order  of  society,  ap- 
pear to  be  principally  these. 

1st. — That  landlord's  in  Ireland  generally  throw 
upon  the  tenants  the  business  of  building,  while 
the  leases  they  give  fall  short  of  the  length  which 
a  building  lease  ought  to  be.  The  peasantry  have 
generally  to  build  their  own  houses,  and  being 


XX11 

either  possessed  of  no  capital,  or  naturally  unwill- 
ing to  lay  out  any  that  they  have  to  the  reversiona- 
ry profit  of  the  landlord,  they  build  houses  of  the 
most  wretched  description,  usually  of  mud  with 
clay  floors,  too  often  without  windows  and  chim- 
neys. It  is  impossible,  that  domestic  habits  should 
be  formed  in  these  horrid  habitations,  and  the 
natural  result  is,  that  the  whole  family  feel  hap- 
pier any  where  than  at  home. 

2d. — Being  generally  illiterate,  or  at  best  pos- 
sessing no  books,  they  have  no  means  of  amuse- 
ment at  home  during  the  long  winter  evenings  ; 
and  as  a  substitute,  assemble  either  at  a  neigh- 
bour's house,  or  a  dancing  house,  where  the  con- 
versation and  amusement  are  of  a  very  question- 
able description.  The  establishment  of  lending 
libraries  in  Ireland  has  already  been  found  to 
check  this  evil. 

3d. — As  individuals,  the  Irish  peasantry  have 
been  degraded  and  oppressed,  and  they  are  not 
connected  in  any  manner  with  the  civil  business 
of  the  country,  an  evil  that  is  aggravated  by  their 
exclusion  from  vestries. 

An  Irishman  of  the  lower  orders,  individually,  is 
dejected,  timid,  and  spiritless ;  it  is  only  in  combi- 
nations and  social  confederacies  that  he  feels  him- 
self a  man,  and  that  his  natural  energy  and  viva- 
city display  themselves. 

This  seems  to  be  the  principal  cause  of  the  un- 
common avidity,  with  which  the  lower  orders  in 
Ireland  seize  every  pretence  and  opportunity  for 
assembling  together,  and  also  for  their  proneness  to 


XX111 

o\ciy  kind  of  illegal  combination:  legally,  they 
have  no  opportunity  of  escaping  from  their  indi- 
vidual insignificance;  in  these,  at  least,  they  find 
that  they  are  of  sufficient  importance,  to  make 
themselves  feared. 

And  yet  the  tendency  of  all  modern  legislation, 
that  concerns  Ireland,  is  to  render  this  exclusion 
of  the  lower  orders  from  all  participation  in  civil 
affairs  more  strict,  and  their  separation  from  the 
higher  orders  more  marked  ! 

The  peasantry  in  Ireland,  compared  with  the 
same  class  in  England,  are  distinguished  by  a 
very  striking  superiority  in  benevolence  and 
charity.  That  they  have  long  been  a  suffering 
race,  may  partly  account  for  their  compassionate 
temper  and  generosity.  Virtues,  like  grosser 
commodities,  generally  exist  in  proportion  to  the 
demand  for  them  ;  and  in  no  country  has  suffering 
humanity  presented  a  more  importunate  claim  for 
mutual  commiseration  and  assistance  than  in 
Ireland.  But  the  difference,  in  its  extreme  degree, 
we  should  ascribe  principally  to  the  operation  of 
the  poor  laws  in  the  one  country,  and  the  absence 
of  all  legal  provision  for  the  poor  in  the  other. 
It  is  evident,  that,  where  the  domestic  and  neigh- 
bourly affections  in  the  one  country  are  seldom 
called  into  exertion,  they  will  exist  in  a  very 
torpid  degree — and  where  in  the  other  country 
the  remedy  for  all  the  casual  evils  of  life  is  sought 
for  only  in  their  exertion,  they  will  be  in  the  same 
degree  abundant  and  energetic. 

The  Author  must  now  apologize  for  the  length, 
to  which  this  preface  is  extended.  Irishmen 


XXIV 

prehaps,  when  deprived  of  all  other  rights,  are 
too  apt  to  abuse  the  last  privilege  conceded  to 
the  unfortunate,  the  right  to  complain. 

He  hopes,  however,  that  the  English  begin  to 
consider  Ireland  with  some  little  compunction  for 
what  has  past,  and  some  good  resolutions  for 
amendment  in  future. 

The  repeal  of  the  Still-fine  laws  this  session  is 
a  good  omen,  and  he  earnestly  trusts,  that  another 
will  not  pass  away  without  an  example  being 
shown,  that  it  is  possible  for  a  nation  to  have  a 
heart. 

If  any  reader  should  feel  disappointed  in  the 
want  of  dramatic  interest  in  the  following  Tale, 
let  him  consider,  that  the  Author's  object  is  not 
to  write  a  novel,  but  to  place  such  observations 
on  the  manners  of  the  Irish  peasantry,  as  have 
occurred  to  him,  in  a  less  formal  shape  than  that 
of  a  regular  dissertation. 


TUB 


PRIEST  OF  RAHERY'S  TALE. 


1  AM  priest  of  the  Island  of  Rahery.  I  shall  soon 
follow  the  good  and  beloved  that  I  baptized  and 
buried,  for  my  heart  is  not  at  home  in  this  world, 
praise  be  to  God.  Yet  while  it  is  his  good  will 
that  I  should  live  in  clay,  let  me  still  be  enacting, 
if  nothing  for  his  glory,  sinner  that  I  am,  some- 
thing for  his  service. 

Shall  I  not  be  called  to  account  at  the  great 
harvest,  what  good  seed  I  have  sown,  what  full 
ears  I  have  to  show  ?  there  will  be  confusion  for  my 
own  sins,  and  burning  blushes  for  yours ;  sons 
and  daughters  mine ! 

How  may  I  insense  you  with  that  wisdom,  which 
is  like  the  coals  of  fire  upon  the  lips  of  the  old. 
and  which  burns  under  the  snows  of  age  ?  My 
voice  is  grown  weak  and  has  a  silly  sound,  and 
therefore  you  do  not  heed  my  exhortation.  You 
see  me  about  to  die,  and  you  already  look  upon 
my  jurisdiction  as  a  fire  side  chronicle.  The 
young  will  never  be  persuaded  by  the  aged,  or  the 
foolish  by  the  wise,  but  the  living  will  condescend 
to  learn  from  the  dead,  for  them  they  neither  en- 
vy nor  hate.  The  memory  of  the  good  multiplies 
1 


info  virtues,  aiid'the  moral  fruits  of  succeeding 
ages  derive  their  nutriment  from  the  ashes  of  the 
past. 

I  observed,  that  at  the  College  of  St.  Omer's 
there  was  mighty  little  good  in  the  students,  be- 
cause there  where  no  local  traditions  of  excelling 
characters,  that  might  give  young  minds  a  taste 
for  goodness ;  every  one  there  was  come  and  gone 
so  soon,  no  one  was  remembered — The  same 
when  I  was  chaplain  on  board  le  Neptune  ;  every 
one  set  up  for  himself  in  vice  and  profanity,  for  a 
ship  has  no  history ;  and  every  man  thinks  it  would 
be  a  shame  to  be  controlled  by  his  messmate,  but 
especially  by  his  priest  or  his  God. 

What  wonder  then  that  we  were  delivered  into 
the  hands  of  the  enemy,  who  carried  us  into  Gib- 
raltar, and  who  at  least  had  so  much  respect  for 
the  vestments  of  religion,  that  they  allowed  me  to 
go  where  I  would,  so  that  I  did  not  remain  in  the 
town. — Spain  was  so  convenient,  that  I  would  not 
want  the  opportunity  of  seeing  a  kingdom  the 
more — I  found  that  people  proud  and  destitute  ; 
not  that  they  wanted  for  gold,  with  the  Indies  in 
their  hands  ;  but  they  did  not  know  what  good- 
ness meant,  either  at  home  or  abroad — and 
where's  the  wonder — if  you  read  their  history  it  is 
a  history  of  tyrants,  the  most  pardonable  of  whom 
were  the  crazy  ones.  It  did  not  therefore  sur- 
prise me  to  see  one  of  their  bull  fights,  where  a 
multitude  of  hired  men  and  animals  were  set  to 
contend,  and  encouraged  by  the  ferocious  accla- 
mations of  the  spectators ;  and  when  one  of  the 
cavaliers  was  thrown,  and  gored,  and  trampled  on, 
the  ladies  applauded  the  bull. 


But  when  I  came  to  Pau  in  Beanie,  the  birth 
place  of  the  great  Henri  Quatre,  I  found  that  the 
small  gossoons  had  a  smack  of  generosity  and  loy- 
alty in  them,  from  sucking  in  the  narratives  of  that 
great  monarch  with  their  mothers'  milk.  It  was 
this  circumstance  reviving  in  my  mind,  which  put 
me  upon  what  I  am  about. — You  all  knew  Mori- 
ertagh  O'Neal  and  Berghetta  his  wife :  are  you 
not  the  better  for  their  having  lived  amongst  you  ? 
and  can  I  give  your  children  a  greater  blessing, 
than  by  setting  before  their  eyes  an  exemplifica- 
tion of  such  industrious  and  sainted  lives  ? 

To  begin  from  the  beginning  ;  Muircheartach, 
Moriertagh,  or,  as  we  call  him,  Maurice's  grand- 
father, was  a  descendant  from  the  antient  house  of 
O'Neal ;  yet  of  all  the  potency  of  his  family  he 
possessed  nothing  but  a  beautiful  old  pedigree 
written  in  gold  on  vellum,  a  mud  cabin,  and  a 
score  of  acres  of  hungry  ground,  which  the  worthy 
M'VTillan,  prince  of  Clanreaguikie,  bestowed  on 
his  forebearers,  when  they  were  driven  out  of  Ty- 
rone. It  was  a  grandson  of  that  same  M'Willan, 
who,  when  he  was  driven  from  his  own  fair  and 
royal  territory  by  king  James  and  the  Scotch 
McDonalds,  sold  all  they  left  him,  and  putting  the 
money  into  one  bag,  shared  it  with  his  followers 
while  it  lasted,  and  so  lr  became  extinct. 

I  have  it  from  tradition,  that  Maurice's  grand- 
father rid  his  mind  of  all  family  pride,  wisely  I 
trow,  and  dedicated  himself  to  black  industry.  His 
farm  was  cold  and  wet,  and  clung,  and  interspers- 
ed with  lumps  of  rocks  and  roots  of  old  yew  trees, 
that  once  they  say  stood  there  as  thick  as  in  a 
forest ;  it  was  on  the  head  land  of  Bengore,  bitten 
by  the  wind,  and  not  the  better  for  the  sea  spray. 


After  spending  his  youth  and  strength  on  this 
ungrateful  spot,  he  thought  he  had  put  some  soul 
into  it,  and  sowed  it  with  corn ;  it  promised  well 
at  harvest,  but  a  storm,  which  scourged  the  whole 
kingdom,  thrashed  the  corn  clean  out  at  the  head 
land  of  Beagore,  and  he  reaped  only  sixteen  bar- 
rels of  oats,  where  he  had  sown  twenty-four.  He 
sowed  these  same  sixteen  barrels  again  :  ill  luck 
betided  the  corn,  it  rained  fifty  days  before  St. 
Kevin's  day,  and  a  hundred  days  after ;  and  was 
ripened  only  by  the  November  frosts.  A  low  born 
spalpeen  would  have  been  discouraged,  but  this 
O'Neal  had  the  right  blood  in  his  veins,  and  though 
he  was  not  proud,  as  I  have  already  said,  he  was 
J'Miacious,  and  not  to  be  beat  down  by  accidents  of 
wind  and  weather.  There  is  a  bay  in  the  head  land 
called  Port  na  Spania,  some  of  you  know  it,  where 
one  of  the  Spanish  armada  was  wrecked  :  there  are 
kelp  rocks  at  the  bottom,  but  to  get  to  them  you  go 
down  a  precipice  four  hundred  feet  high  by  a  very 
indifferent  path.  O'Neal's  farm  was  entitled  to  a 
quarter  of  this  bay,  it  might  be  about  thirty  square 
yards  of  rock.  Well,  the  third  year  he  would  not 
trust  entirely  to  the  farm,  but  leaving  that  to  his 
son  David  who  was  newly  returned  from  sea,  he 
and  his  wife  laboured  every  day  at  cutting  sea- 
weed, and  converting  it  into  kelp.  It  told  well, 
and  the  cropa,  ujuugh  iudiilfcrently  laboured  by 
the  sailor,  were  well  headed  and  ripening  fast, 
when  this  O'Neal  accompanied  by  his  wife  slipped 
in  going  down  the  path,  a  thing  unheard  of  before, 
though  always  counted  dangerous,  and  was  dashed 
upon  the  rocks.  Though  the  widow,  who  was  a  sensi- 
ble woman,  I  remember  her  well,  told  her  son  Da- 
vid that  she  had  often  and  often  heard  her  husband 
say,  that  he  would  wish  for  nothing  so  little  as  a 
fine  funeral,  and  that  it  was  very  idle  if  not  saprile- 


gious,  to  rob  the  living  to  be  at  a  great  expense 
about  the  dead,  who  also  could  know  nothing 
about  it ;  yet  David,  who  had  more  of  the  pride 
of  birth  in  him  than  the  generality  of  his  kindred, 
would  have  it  otherwise ;  and  there  were  to  be 
pipes  and  tobacco,  whiskey,  two  pipers  arid  a  blind 
tiddler,  and  even  oats  for  the  horses  of  all  the 
friends  that  attended  the  wake,  which  of  course 
were  a  great  many  ;  the  singularity  of  the  defunct's 
exit  making  a  great  talk  in  the  country,  every  idle 
person  was  glad  to  be  at  the  wake  of  the  body  to 
hear  the  particulars.  All  the  money  the  family 
had  was  sunk  in  this  wake ;  do  not  think  that  I 
make  matters  worse  than  they  were,  because  you 
know  I  do  not  approve  of  wakes,  for  it  was  worse 
than  this.  David  O'Neal  had  forgot  the  credi- 
tors :  his  father  had  been  enabled  to  repair  his 
losses  partly  by  his  good  credit ;  but  these  very 
creditors,  who  had  feasted  and  played  their  gam- 
bols at  the  wake,  when  they  saw  how  the  money 
was  spending,  thought  right  to  secure  themselves, 
and  seized  upon  corn,  cows,  pigs,  and  poultry,  and 
would  scarcely  spare  the  widow's  feather-bed  ;  so 
that  David  found  himself  heir  to  the  land  and  mud 
cabin  only  with  a  mother  and  wife,  (for  he  had 
*  married  a  pretty  girl  before  he  went  to  sea,)  and 
a  coming  family  to  maintain.  But  his  crops  were 
good,  and  he  had  the  value  of  some  matter  of  prize 
money  converted  into  plate  ;  that  is  a  silver  watch, 
silver  tobacco  box  and  stopper,  and  a  very  large 
pair  of  silver  knee  and  shoe  buckles,  with  some 
outlandish  finery  picked  up  at  different  ports,  of 
which  he  had  either  not  inquired  or  had  forgotten 
the  use.  These  he  sold  :  and  as  I  was  then  lately 
come  to  the  parish,  being  grown  tired  of  foreign 
service,  and  sighing  after  rny  native  country,  sorry 
though  it  be,  1  purchased  for  four  guineas  a  very 
1  * 


elegantly  embroidered  sort  of  mantle,  to  supply 
the  place  of  the  old  altar  cloth,  which  had  fallen 
to  pieces  from  the  damp  of  the  chapel.  By  these 
means  David  was  enabled  to  purchase  in  the  first 
instance  ahorse,  but  being  quite  an  innocent  natu- 
rally, and  inexperienced  from  a  sea  life,  he  was 
imposed  on,  and  bought  a  jade  that  was  well  re- 
membered in  the  country  for  twenty  years,  and 
was  not  a  young  one  neither  when  it  was  first  in- 
troduced into  those  parts.  When  David  found 
that  a  horse  of  thirty  years  standing  might  rank 
with  a  septuagenary,  he  became  so  afraid  of  his 
dying  on  his  hands,  and  thinking  he  never  could 
get  too  far  from  the  danger  he  had  escaped,  he  ex- 
changed him  with  a  piece  of  plate  to  boot,  for  a 
colt  that  was  as  useless  from  youth,  as  the  garron 
was  from  old  age.  His  father's  misfortunes  were 
compassionated  because  they  were  inevitable, 
but  David's  seemed  the  fruits  of  folly,  and  were 
held  in  derision.  However,  some  landholders  of 
the  town,  who  had  more  nature  than  the  rest,  ad- 
mitted him  to  a  neighbour  dealing,  and  joining  his 
colt  in  the  team  with  three  of  their  horses,  the 
plough  was  employed  by  turns  in  each  man's  farm. 

It  was  singular,  that  though  David  never  arrived 
to  know  a  fat  beast  from  a  lean  one,  and  was  al- 
ways obliged  to  get  a  neighbour  to  come  and  tell 
him  when  his  corn  was  ripe  ;  and  I  believe  was 
cheated  besides  in  every  bargain  he  made ; 
yet  no  one  had  better  crops,  no  one  had  a  cleaner 
house,  or  made  money  more  rapidly.  And  indeed 
he  deserved  it,  for  passing  his  extreme  simplicity, 
which  yet  had  a  winningness  in  it,  there  was  no 
more  respectable  man  ;  he  was  industrious,  though 
he  had  neither  genius  nor  taste  for  farming,  and  as 
other  farmers  leave  their  work  to  run  after  a  pack 


of  hounds,  so  he  would  throw  aside  his  fac  when- 
ever a  ship  passed  the  head,  and  had  always  a  long 
history  for  his  wife,  which  from  his  great  skill  in 
these  matters  I  verily  think  was  often  correct,  of 
what  country  she  came  from,  where  she  was 
bound,  how  much  she  had  suffered  in  the  last  gale, 
where  she  was  built,  what  she  was  laden  with, 
and  so  on.  Besides  in  one  respect  he  was  a  real 
gentleman  ;  for  never  would  you  hear  his  Maker's 
name  profaned  in  his  mouth,  though  an  inadvert- 
ent oath  might  be  more  seemly  in  him,  having 
been  so  long  used  to  sea  scurrility.  He  was  also 
a  man  of  reading,  and  great  piety,  paid  much  de- 
ference to  his  wife,  and  was  tender  of  his  children, 
for  he  had  two. 

I  will  tell  you  the  manner  of  his  death.  These 
children,  a  boy  and  girl,  might  be  about  the  age  of 
eleven  and  twelve,  when  their  father  was  seized 
with  a  violent  sickness  and  drowsiness,  which  lasted 
some  three  days.  Unhappily  his  wife  had  a  distant 
relation  in  Isle  Rahery,  one  of  those  old  supersti- 
tious crones,  who  with  their  news  and  lies,  antiqua- 
ted usages,  and  preposterous  legends,  usurp  a  do- 
mination over  families,  and  are  mighty  pretenders 
to  skill  in  medicine.  To  give  her  her  due,  she 
had  a  knowledge  of  herbs  and  simples,  and  made 
an  excellent  water  for  curing  the  scab  in  sheep, 
yet  so  poisonous  was  its  nature,  that,  if  applied  to  a 
breeding  ewe,  she  generally  lost  her  lamb.  Well, 
this  beldame  was  sent  for,  Rose  M'Cormick  was 
her  name,  and  she  came  with  too  great  speed ; 
she  would  cross  the  sea  between  Rahery  ajid  Bal- 
lycastle  in  the  roughest  weather,  when  in  the 
calmest  there  is  often  a  broken  swell  from  the 
conflict  of  the  tides  that  makes  it  dangerous;  it 
was  wonderful  to  see  her  coming  full  trot  behind 


a  gossoon  on  the  crupper  of  a  horse  without  pillow 
or  pillion  under  her.  She  was  a  woman  of  greaL 
size,  yet  agile  withal,  and  so  hardened  by  haps 
and  hazards,  that  she  had  little  personal  feeling 
for  herself,  and  less  for  any  one  else,  except  a  son 
that  she  had  indulged  and  spoilt  from  infancy. 

I  had  heard  that  David  O'Neal  was  ill,  but 
judging  it  only  the  effects  of  cold  that  nature 
would  relieve,  I  did  not  trouble  myself  to  go  to 
him,  being  at  that  time  an  indifferent  Christian, 
though  a  middle-aged  priest.  But  hearing  that 
Rose  M'Cormick  had  been  sent  for,  1  became  un- 
easy, and  sent  one  to  desire  her  to  attend  me  the 
next  day.  In  the  mean  time  I  heard  that  he  wag 
affected  with  what  the  commonalty  call  a  blast, 
(that  is,  an  erysipelas)  supposing  from  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  attack,  that  it  arises  from  some  perni- 
cious influence  in  the  air ;  a  violent  swelling  and 
redness  being  succeeded  by  pustules  on  the  skin 
resembling  blisters. 

The  next  day,  when  Rose  M'Cormick  came,  I 
asked  her  what  ailed  the  man. 

"  He  has  gotten  a  water  farcy,  your  reverence." 

"  A  farcy,  woman,  what  do  you  take  him  for  a 
horse  ?  I  never  heard  of  man  or  Christian  having 
such  a  distemper." 

"  Please  your  reverence,  there  may  be  ailments 
in  this  country  unlike  to  what  there  are  in  foreign 
parts." 

"  That's  true  any  how,  Mrs.  M'Cormick,  and 
may  I  ask  if  you  have  done  any  thing  for  the  cure 
of  this  farcy." 


;-  I  will  conceal  nothing  from  the  like  of  you, 
your  reverence,  though  1  do  not  wish  to  expose 
my  nostrums  to  all  the  world,"  replied  she.  "  I 
had  him  dipt  seven  times  in  Saint  Burdoc's  pool, 
and  when  he  was  put  to  bed,  gave  him  a  pill  of 
sublimate  of  mercury." 

"  Out  upon  you,  you  old  witch,"  I  exclaimed, 
and  worse  than  that  (for  I  was  then  in  the  habit 
of  indulging  in  many  impious  ejaculations,)  "  the 
first  was  enough  to  kill  the  man,  you  might  have 
spared  your  pill." 

"  Old  witch,  old  witch,  old  witch,"  muttered 
she,  striking  the  floor  very  quick  with  a  brown 
crooked  handled  cane  she  held  in  her  hand,  "  if 
any  one  but  a  priest  had  put  such  a  spot  on  me, 
this  very  night  he  should  have  had  my  curse  on  my 
bended  knees.  O  your  reverence,  your  reve- 
rence, troth  you  are  a  foul  mouthed  Christian." 

"  That's  true,  Mrs.  M'Cormick,  I  confess,"  re- 
plied I,  "for  if  you  had  killed  twenty  men,  with  a 
good  intention,  I  had  no  business  to  have  called 
you  names." 

Kill  David  O'Neal,  however,  she  certainly  did  j 
the  complaint  was  driven  in  on  his  brain,  and  he  did 
nothing  but  rave  till  he  died.  I  never  saw  any 
thing  so  moving  as  the  grief  of  his  darling  children, 
while  the  poor  wife  sat  like  one  amazed.  But 
there  was  no  want  of  stir  where  Mrs.  M'Cormick 
was,  and  now  she  would  dole  out  a  scrap  of  con- 
solation to  the  widow,  and  now  give  fifty  direc- 
tions for  the  waking  of  the  body.  I  knew  that  it 
was  no  use  to  oppose  this  pagan  rite,  neither  had 
Mrs.  M-Cormick  lost  any  of  her  predominance  by 


10 

the  failure  of  her  prescription  ;  his  time  was  come, 
and  that  being  the  case,  a  saint  would  have  failed 
to  cure  him;  so  I  took  my  departure,  grieving 
much  for  the  widow  and  orphans. 

The  next  morning  I  saw  one  of  their  neigh- 
bours standing  before  my  window. 

"  What  news  ?"  said  I. 

"  Please  your  reverence,  I  made  bold  to  step 
over  and  ask  your  reverence's  interposition  to 
save  something  for  the  desolate  orphans,  for  Rose 
M'Cormick  insists  there  must  be  another  wake  to- 
night, though  the  dead  body's  friends  are  consid- 
erate and  to  a  man  against  it ;  otherwise  there 
will  not  be  a  copper  left  for  the  childers'  main- 
tenance." 

"  Another  wake !"  cried  I,  "  sure  the  woman's 
beside  herself,  did  ever  any  one  hear,  even  in  this 
island  of  superstition, — of  a  dead  body  being 
waked  twice  ?" 

"  Oh  your  reverence  is  out,"  rejoined  the  man. 
"  sure  you  have  not  heard,  then,  that  the  wife, 
Peggy  O'Neal,  died  this  morning." 

"  Ah,  well-a-day !"  cried  I,  "  how's  that  ?" 

"  Sure,  there  was  an  inhuman  noise  all  last 
night,  and  the  cratur  was  almost  distract,  she 
wrung  her  hands  piteously ;  but  Rose  M'Cormick 
said,  it  would  get  up  her  spirits  to  keep  her  with 
us  while  the  gambols  were  going  on,  and,  indeed, 
where  else  could  she  go  ?  the  spare  room  was  full 
af  horses,  the  stable  being  but  small ;  but  it  was 


11 

all  one,  she  regarded  none  of  our  plays  and  the 
like,  but  kept  her  eyes  full  on  the  corpse,  lying 
laid  out  in  the  room  all  the  while  ;  and  early  this 
morning,  just  before  we  parted,  whether  the  noise 
was  too  much  for  her,  being  a  delicate  one 
always,  or  being  kept  too  long  from  her  natural 
rest  having  tended  the  sick  so  many  nights  before, 
or  it  might  be  pure  grief,  her  heart  burst,  and  she 
died  but  with  one  groan." 

I  sent  by  this  man  a  message  to  the  big  woman, 
that  a  public  wake  might  be  dispensed  with,  and 
only  herself  and  a  neighbour  or  two  to  watch  at 
night,  that  something  might  be  saved  for  the  or- 
phans.— What  was  her  answer  ? — "  Heavens  send 
that  Father  O'Brien  is  not  a  worse  Catholic  for 
his  foreign  breeding ;  but  let  that  be  as  it  will,  it 
shall  never  be  said  that  this  poor  dead  thing,  born 
a  M'Cormick,  and  married  to  an  O'Neal,  shall  be 
buried  without  a  wake,  and  that  a  decent  one 
too." — So  refractory  was  she  grown,  in  the  con- 
ceit of  her  old  customs  and  superstitions. 

Well,  I  buried  the  two,  and  a  great  funeral 
Mrs.  M'Cormick  made  .pf  it ;  proud  enough  she 
was,  and  looked  as  if  she  was  drunk  ;  and  nothing 
particular  if  she  was,  for  there  were  two  thousand 
people  there,  men  and  women,  and  not  one  but 
was  drunk  or  noisy.  "  Better,"  thought  I,  "  my 
friends,  if  you  had  staid  at  home,  and  minded  your 
industry."  But  the  Irish  are  full  of  ostentation, 
and  mighty  fond  of  being  wherever  there  is  a 
crowd,  and  then  they  flatter  themselves  withal, 
that  this  is  being  vastly  good  Christians.  But  I 
said  nothing,  for  I  knew  they  looked  on  me  in  the 
light  of  half  a  foreigner. 


IS 

1  saw  nothing  of  the  orphans  at  that  time,  who 
became  so  dear  to  me  afterwards,  for  I  was  order- 
ed by  my  superiors  to  dwell  in  the  island  of  Rahe- 
ry,  where  it  was  reported  that  religion  was  ex- 
tinct. A  sorry  apostle  was  1 5  and  little  were  they 
likely  to  be  benefited  by  me,  if  it  was  bo,  bat  it 
was  not.  You  are  as  good  and  creditable  a  ilock 
as  any  in  Ireland,  sober,  industrious,  peaceable, 
stayers  at  home.  There  are  no  great  crimes 
committed  in  Rahery,  and  the  smaller  kind  of  pet- 
ty delinquences  are  punished  by  a  drench  of  sea- 
water,  the  larger,  by  banishment  to  Ireland.  Su- 
perstition, however,  there  is  here,  as  elsewhere. 
It  was  about  ten  days  after  my  arrival,  I  saw  a  wo- 
man, with  nothing  on  her  head,  on  her  bare  knees, 
for  she  had  pulled  her  clothes  from  under  them, 
and  no  object  of  adoration  but  an  old  thorn  co- 
vered with  bits  of  rags,  that  hung  over  a  green 
well ;  however,  this  was  it, — a  holy  well,  famous 
for  cures ;  the  rags  the  testimonials,  being  the  vo- 
tive gifts  of  convalescents.  As  I  approached,  I 
saw  the  woman  was  Rose  M'Cormick.  She  got 
up  and  made  twenty  curtsies,  and  then  advanced 
zig  zag,  making  a  curtsy  to  the  well  at  every  turn. 
When  she  had  crossed  herself  with  the  well  water, 
as  if  it  had  been  holy  water,  I  called  to  her. 
"  Come  hither,  Mrs.  M'Cormick,"  for  my  con- 
science was  ill  at  ease,  at  not  having  inquired  far- 
ther about  the  orphans. 

"  Bless  your  reverence,"  cried  she,  "  you  quite 
startled  me  !  I  did  not  think  that  you  would  have 
been  the  one  to  disturb  my  devotions." 

"  Your  devotions,  woman !"  said  I,  "  why  I 
thought  you  had  been  conjuring.  But  1  want  to 
ask  you  about  David  O'NeaPs  orphans." 


13 

"  O  ask  me  nothing  about  them,  I  have  rid  my 
heart  of  them  quite  and  clean.  The  girl  is  un- 
controllable, and  the  boy  is  the  most  unnatural 
aspic  I  ever  laid  eyes  on  ;  I  thought  he  would 
have  thrown  the  griddle  at  my  head  when  I  want- 
ed to  take  his  sister  with  me,  and  what  does  he 
do  at  last,  watches  his  opportunity,  and  locks  the 
door,  And  I  on  the  outside,  which  I  will  remember 
as  I  ^Wuld  my  prayers,  to  the  longest  day  I  live." 

This  account  made  me  the  more  resolute  to  look 
after  these  children,  and  every  day  I  thought  the 
better  of  their  judgment  in  turning  out  against 
this  evil  woman.  What  with  her  drugs,  her  tales, 
and  superstitions,  she  was  in  the  middle  of  every 
body's  business,  and  every  where  doing  mischief. 
It  was  only  a  few  days  after  that  a  poor  creature 
came  to  me,  with  his  face  all  swelled,  a  horrid  sight, 
and  could  neither  speak  nor  eat.  I  found  that  he 
had  suffered  from  a  bad  tooth-ache,  and  sending 
for  Rose  M'Corrnick,  she  desired  him  to  pound  a 
green  glass  bottle  coarsely,  to  mix  it  with  whiskey, 
and  work  it  briskly  about  in  his  mouth ;  the  fool- 
ish fellow  persisted  in  this  cure,  till  his  tongue  and 
mouth  became  shockingly  inflamed,  and  the  mus- 
cles of  his  jaws  so  swollen  and  rigid,  that  he  could 
not  open  his  teeth,  and  had  lived  two  days  on  suc- 
tion. I  desired  him  to  stupe  his  jaws  with  a  stone 
weight  of  wool,  wrung  out  of  scalding  water,  which 
immediately  relieved  him ;  but  he  seemed  disap- 
pointed after  all,  that  he  was  not  cured  by  being 
read  over.  Indeed  if  I  had  chosen  to  act  the  re- 
ligious impostor,  I  might  have  spoilt  all  Rose  M'- 
Cormick's  trade,  people  with  agues,  and  fits,  and 
scrofula,  and  white  swellings,  came  from  all  part* 
to  have  the  Bible  read  over  them,  or  to  have  me 
stroke  the  seat  of  the  complaint ;  but  it  alwavs 


14 

seemed  impious  to  me,  to  allow  these  poor  crea- 
tures to  believe,  that  sinners  like  themselves  could 
work  miracles,  even  though  a  cure  might  some- 
times be  wrought  by  the  strong  agency  of  their 
own  fancies  •,  and  its  being  so  generally  practised 
by  priests,  may  give  a  colour  to  our  enemies,  to 
say  we  do  not  care  by  what  means  we  keep  up 
the  influence  of  our  clergy  over  their  igjorant 
flock. — I  said  to  them  all,  "If  you  want^ro  be 
cured  by  conjuring,  go  to  Rose  M'Cormick." 

A  year  passed  away,  the  most  important  in  my 
life  ;  for  attending  a  sick  creature  1  was  surprised 
to  find  a  number  of  well  bound  books  in  his  house. 
They  had  belonged  to  a  traveller,  who  had  come 
to  see  the  Giant's  Causeway,  passed  over  into  Ra- 
hery  to  shoot  gulls  and  sea  parrots,  overheated 
himself,  and  died  of  a  pleurisy. 

I  borrowed  some  of  them,  they  were  all  reli- 
gious, and,  though  written  by  Protestants,  yet  hav- 
ing no  heretical  matter,  and  treating  only  on  the 
main  principles  common  to  both  churches,  they 
made  so  deep  an  impression  on  me  by  convincing 
me  that  I  had  no  religion  in  my  heart,  that  my 
thoughts  became  one  continual  prayer  to  the 
Great  God,  that  he  would  change  my  vain  world- 
ly, selfish  hard,  and  proud  temper,  into  a  tender 
and  pious  one — You,  my  dear  flock,  must  judge 
from  my  conduct  if  my  prayers  were  heard — The 
first  proof  of  a  change  was  setting  out  for  the 
main  land  with  a  resolution  to  bring  David  O'- 
Neal's orphans  home  to  me. 

When  1  got  to  the  house,  I  concluded  the  poor 
things  had  been  forced  to  give  it  up  to  some  new 
possessor,  more  the  pity  when  it  had  been  so  long 


in  the  family,  for  the  house  was  new  thatched  and 
white  washed,  and  a  very  pretty  garden  with 
flowers  and  cabbages  in  it,  things  unseen  before 
on  the  headland  of  Bengore. 

As  I  approached,  a  young  lass  cams  out  so  tidy 
and  genteel  withall,  that  1  could  scarce  recog- 
nise her  for  O'NeaPs  daughter,  Una. 

"  My  pretty  one,"  said  I,  "  I  am  glad  to  see 
you  in  such  good  case  ;  then  your  poor  father  left 
more  behind  him  than  was  supposed." 

•'  Indeed  he  did  not  Sir,"  she  replied,  "  we 
were  poor  enough  at  first,  but  Maurice  is  such  a 
good  manager,  that  he  has  brought  every  thing 
about,  and  we  are  now  comfortable  and  decent 
without  being  obliged  to  any  one." 

"  Maurice,"  exclaimed  I,  "  why  the  boy  is  but 
a  child !  what  could  he  do  ?" 

"  What  can  he  not  do  ?"  replied  Una,  with  a 
proudish  look  that  became  her  well :  "  but  will 
not  your  Reverence  walk  in,  and  I  will  go  for 
Maurice  to  the  field,  for  he  never  returns  from 
the  time  he  goes  out  to  his  work." 

"  No,  don't  go  yet,"  said  I,  when  I  was  seated, 
*•  for  this  all  seems  very  amazing,  and  1  want  to 
ask  you  a  question  or  two  more>  The  house  is 
staunch  and  clean,  more  so  than  ever  I  saw  it  in 
its  hest  of  days  ;  you  are  tidy  and  smart  too,  and 
a  garden  into  the  bargain,  and  yet  1  cannot  con- 
ceive, for  the  life  of  me,  how  the  lad  could  even 
crop  or  stock  his  land," 


16 

"  O,  he  found  a  good  tenant,  and  set  the  land 
the  first  thing  he  did,  for  he  said,  the  value  of  the 
time  lost  on  the  ground,  without  money  to  do 
things  as  they  ought  to  be  done,  was  more  than 
any  good  that  was  got  out  of  the  ground — and  it 
was  better  to  set  the  ground  and  work  for  wages, 
and  then  he  should  be  certain  that  both  the  farm 
and  his  own  labour  would  pay  something." 

u  Then  what  do  you  do  for  a  cow — what  do 
you  do  for  potatoes  ?" 

"We  never -eat  potatoes." 

"  Never  eat  potatoes,  pretty  one — then  how  do 
you  live  ?" 

"Maurice  lives  on  meat  and  wheaten  bread, 
and  drinks  nothing  but  water,  unless  he  takes  tea 
Arith  me  in  the  evening." 

"Meat!  tea!  wheaten  bread!  Why  how  do 
you  pay  for  it  all  ?  I  believe  your  old  grand-aunt, 
ilose  McCormick,  has  taught  you  to  dream  for 
gold." 

"  I  earn  two-pence  a  day  by  spinning,  and  Mau- 
rice thirteen  pence  a  day  by  his  work.  We  get 
good  meat  for  two-pence  a  pound,  and  bread  for 
a  penny,  so  after  paying  the  week's  expenses,  there 
is  enough  to  buy  clothes,  something  for  charity, 
and  to  help  a  neighbour ;  and  we  have  a  strong 
box,  with  two  guineas  already  in  it,  in  case  of 
sickness  and  accidents ;  all  the  rent  of  the  farm 
will  go  for  some  years  to  pay  our  grandfather's 
debts. 


17 

u  My  pretty  maid,"  said  I,  for  I  would  not  in- 
terrupt her,  "  if  1  did  not  know  the  veracity  of 
your  family,  I  should  think  you  were  rhodomon- 
tading.  Maurice  earn  thirteen  pence  a  day,  when 
the  best  man  in  the  parish  only  gets  sixpence  !" 

"  Yes  ;  but  Maurice  works  task  work,  and  as  he 
is  so  well  fed,  he  says  he  is  able  to  work  better 
than  many^rown  up  men.  Indeed,  he  says  eating 
meat  is  the  cheapest  and  best,  for  besides  being 
able  to  earn  so  much  more,  he  can  take  his  cold 
meat  and  bread  with  him,  and  look  for  work  five 
miles  off;  but  if  he  ate  potatoes,  I  should  be  forced 
to  carry  them  twice  a  day  through  all  weathers, 
which  would  oblige  him  to  work  only  near  home ; 
besides,  I  should  lose  the  most  of  what  I  earn  by 
spinning,  and  wear  out  my  shoes  and  clothes  ; 
have  to  pay  for  medicines  two  or  three  times  a 
year,  from  colds  ;  and  what  he  thinks  worst  of, 
be  in  company  with  all  the  labourers  during  their 
meals,  without  mentioning  the  idle  tattered  girls 
who  carry  them  their  meals ;  and  any  how  he  can- 
not endure  that  I  should  leave  the  house  unless 
he  is  with  me.  Now  he  takes  his  cold  meat  and 
bread  with  him,  and  asks  no  more  till  he  comes 
home  to  supper." 

"  God  love  your  brother,  child,"  said  I,  "  I 
never  heard  the  like  before  :  where  is  he  ?  for  my 
heart  will  not  be  at  ease  till  I  see  him." 

"  He  is  about  two  miles  off,  but  if  your  reve- 
rence will  have  patience  the  while,  I  will  run  and 
bring  him  ;  he  will  not  mind  my  going  alone,  when 
he  hears  that  you  are  at  home,  where  there  has 
been  nothing  holy  for  a  long  time*" 
2* 


i  18 

"  Run  you  shall  not,"  said  I,  "  but  stay  here 
till  I  visit  a  neighbour  or  two,  and  by  that  time 
your  brother  will  be  back ;  and  if  you  have  a  wad 
of  straw  in  any  corner,  I  will  sleep  here  to  night, 
preferable  to  the  best  house  in  the  parish." 

"  Then  come  and  see  your  bed,"  said  the 
charming  maid,  giving  me  her  hand,  u  many's  the 
envious  heart  there  will  be  to  night,  when  it  is 
known  the  honour  we  have  got ;  but  we  will  not 
rejoice  the  less  for  that." 

She  showed  me  a  tidy  room  and  a  white  bed, 
that  might  have  served  a  Cardinal. 

"  This  is  my  room,"  said  she,  "  which  you  shall 
have,  with  a  pair  of  sheets  of  my  own  spinning." 

"  And  where,  love,  will  you  sleep  ?" 

"  Oh  never  mind,  I  have  settled  it  all  just  as  I 
know  my  brother  would  have  it ;  here  you  sleep, 
that's  all ;  I  shall  sleep  in  his  bed,  and  he  will 
sleep  on  the  wad  of  straw  by  the  kitchen  fire — 
but  it  will  go  hard  with  him  if  he  had  not  a  spare 
bed  by  another  year." 

I  went  my  ways,  as  I  said,  and  though  I  had  a 
great  opinion  of  the  blood  of  the  O'Neals,  which 
in  spite  of  poverty  and  depression  still  would 
speak  out  in  some  of  its  ancient  splendour,  yet 
what  I  had  seen  and  heard  surprised  me.  The 
girl  was  grown  the  handsomest  creature  I  had  ever 
seen,  something  of  the  kind  I  had  seen  in  Spain, 
her  eyes  were  large,  and  of  a  velvet  black,  with 
very  long  eye-lashes,  her  teeth  beautiful  and  regu- 
lar, and  her  cheeks  rudred.  She  had  no  brogue 
or  accent,  but  an  ease,  jauntiness,  and  gentility  of 


19 

r,  quite  uncommon — and  the  boy  seemed 
to  have  all  the  industry  of  his  forefathers,  with 
more  conduct  to  boot. 

I  went  to  rate  half  a  score  of  my  flock,  who  had 
been  leagued  in  plundering  a  wreck,  and  after 
dining  with  one  of  the  most  respectable  of  them, 
I  returned  in  the  evening  to  O'Neal's  tenement. 

Maurice  was  returned  from  his  work,  and  at 
the  first  sight  my  heart  warmed  to  him ;  his  face 
and  forehead  were  full  of  nobleuess,  and  I  ceased 
to  be  surprised  at  what  his  sister"  told  me  of  the 
produce  of  his  labour,  for  he  was  very  large  and 
robust  for  his  age,  with  a  look  of  great  sagacity 
and  graveness,  indeed,  to  describe  his  countenance 
once  for  all,  it  seemed  to  feel  more  and  think 
more  than  any  visage  I  ever  saw. 

After  1  had  inquired  into  his  affairs,  and  found 
them  pretty  much  as  his  sister  had  represented, 
she  made  tea  for  us,  and  no  court  lady'could  en- 
tertain her  company  with  more  ease  and  agreea- 
bleness.  No,  thought  I,  the  stock  of  the  O'Neals 
will  never  degenerate,  graft  it  as  you  will  with 
briars,  still  its  flowers  are  roses. 

After  his  sister  Una  had  retired  to  her  room,  I 
told  Maurice  with  what  intention  I  had  come  ; 
make  your  home  with  me,  I  will  instruct  you  in 
the  Greek  and  Latin  writers,  which  can  do  no 
harm  to  any  man,  that  you  may  at  least  be  on  a 
par  with"  the  mountaineers,  who  are  very  good 
scholars ;  and  what  religious  instruction  I  am  ca- 
pable of,  I  will  give  you ;  but  for  that  you  had 
best  read  your  testament,  and  pray  yourself  to 
God,  who  is  the  only  effectual  teacher. — Maurice 


20 

thanked  me  in  very  well  chosen  terms,  but  said, 
for  the  present  he  had  best  remain  as  he  was,  till 
he  could  gather  money  enough  to  place  his  sister 
in  some  respectable  family,  as  that  lay  most  upon 
his  mind.  He  had  no  relations  that  could  take 
care  of  her;  if  Mrs.  M'Cormick  had  been  a  de- 
cent person,  he  would  have  taken  her  into  the 
house,  but  she  was  quite  drunk  the  night  before 
she  went.  He  had  since  been  very  much  dis- 
turbed by  a  visit  from  his  cousin,  her  son,  Merritt 
M'Cormick,  which  had  obliged  him  to  stay  at 
home  a  whole  week,  for  he  would  not  leave  his 
sister  an  instant  in  his  company. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  that  cousin  of 
yours  ?"  said  I. 

"Bad  enough,"  replied  Maurice;  "he  is  a 
pickthank,  a  flatterer,  and  a  liar,  with  a  great 
share  of  acuteness  and  drollery,  and  as  handsome 
as  an  angel." 

I  asked  if  he  had  any  instruction  for  himself 
and  his  sister.  He  said  he  had :  he  took  her  on 
Sundays  to  an  English  gentlewoman,  who  had 
fieen  left  by  the  death  of  her  husband,  an  officer, 
so  destitute,  that  to  maintain  herself  and  daughter 
she  had  been  obliged  to  open  a  school;  and  he 
preferred  it  to  another,  on  account  of  the  goodness 
of  the  lady's  accent;  "besides,"  said  he,  "she 
comes  here  at  odd  times,  and  gives  Una  instruc- 
tions in  needle-work,  and  is  so  obliging  as  to  lend 
us  her  books,  which  are  very  good  books.  But," 
added  Maurice,  "  if  your  Reverence  would  really 
condescend  so  much,  I  would  think  nothing,  after 
I  had  left  Una  at  school  on  Sundays,  of  borrow- 
ing a  boat,  and  rowing  to  Rahery,  and  if  your 


21 

Reverence  could  afford  me  half  an  hour  only  to 
put  me  in  the  way  of  what  I  should  learn,  I  would 
engage  to  turn  it  to  account  in  the  course  of  the 
week.  Even  if  I  returned  too  late  to  bring  Una 
home,  I  dare  say  Mrs.  Clifford  would  let  Una 
sleep  with  her  daughter." 

I  approved  his  reasons,  and  arranged  it  so  ac- 
cordingly ;  and  every  Sunday  would  this  indefati- 
gable boy  row  from  the  little  Bay  of  Bengore  to 
Rahery,  and  return  in  the  evening.  The  wea- 
ther was  seldom  so  rough  but  he  ventured  across, 
and  it  was  often  with  an  anxious  eye  that  I  watch- 
ed his  little  boat, — now  appearing, — now  lost  from 
sight  behind  a  swelling  wave.  Latterly,  however, 
he  did  not  return  till  the  Monday  morning,  as  he 
found  that  his  sister  Una  derived  great  improve- 
ment from  being  with  Mrs.  Clifford,  and  he  was 
satisfied  that  she  should  stay  there  the  whole  of 
Sunday. 

Maurice's  advance  was  the  more  rapid,  and  as 
he  knew  how  short  the  time  was  that  he  could 
spare  from  his  daily  labour,  he  turned  every  mo- 
ment to  account.  And  here  I  learnt  how  much 
more  a  boy  accomplishes,  who  studies  from  his 
own  good  will,  than  one  who  has  it  thrashed  into 
him :  for  Maurice,  with  only  a  few  hours'  instruc- 
tion, on  odd  Sundays,  learnt  five  times  as  speedi- 
ily  as  any  student  I  had  ever  known,  and  at  the 
end  of  three  years,  the  scholar,  I  confess,  was 
wiser  than  the  master.  There  was  a  long  inter- 
val, even  in  this  time,  when  I  could  give  no  in- 
struction, being  wholly  occupied  in  suppressing 
tumults  among  the  populace.  The  English,  how- 
ever gentle  at  home,  were  always  severe  and  un- 
natural towards  the  Irish  subjects,  whom  thejr 


I 


22 

sometimes  considered  as  holding  by  right,  some- 
times by  conquest,  so  that  never  was  more  aptly 
instanced  that  saying  of  the  great  historian, — "  Ha- 
bent  inimicos  ut  alienos,  viles  tanquam  suos." 
An  act  of  the  English  Parliament,  which  prevent- 
ed the  importation  of  the  usual  Irish  commodities 
into  that  country,  produced  a  sudden  stoppage  of 
trade  and  industry.  The  farmers  could  get  no 
sale  where  the  tradesmen  were  ruined,  and  began 
to  turn  off  their  labourers,  who,  in  a  kind  of  des- 
perate idleness,  took  to  drinking  and  nightly  meet- 
ings. The  vain  young  fellows  who  cut  a  dash  at 
fairs  and  wakes,  and  hurling  matches,  and  are  al- 
ways desirous  to  head  they  don't  care  what,  gath- 
ered them  in  large  bodies  on  the  bogs  and  moun- 
tains, and  frightened  the  whole  country  out  of 
their  wits  :  then  the  laws,  and  the  magistrates,  and 
the  army  made  bad  worse,  so  that  it  was  only  by 
flying  about  like  a  will-o-the-wisp,  that  I  brought 
the  misguided  people  to  a  sense  of  their  interest 
and  duty,  which  is  always  to  be  peaceable  and 
patient. 

During  these  three  years,  Maurice  had  been 
earning  and  saving  money  so  fast,  that  it  seemed 
to  grow  in  his  hands ;  but  in  his  hands  thrift  was 
the  fuel  of  kind  deeds  ;  and  though  he  had  it  much 
at  heart  to  be  able  to  stock  and  crop  his  land,  and 
hold  again  the  land  that  had  been  ploughed  by  so 
many  of  his  forefathers,  his  first  care  was,  to  pro- 
cure a  safe  and  honourable  residence  for  his  sister 
Una.  Mrs.  Clifford  had  told  him,  that  she  knew 
an  infirm  old  lady  of  quality,  in  London,  who  want- 
ed a  young  companion  to  read  to  her;  but  she  was 
far  from  wealthy,  and  could  give  but  a  very  small 
salary ;  and  it  would  be  necessary  for  Una  to  be 
provided  with  handsome  clothes,  as  the  lady,  who 


was  of  an  old  Catholic  family,  saw  the  best  compa- 
ny, and  had  a  sister  greatly  married  in  France,  who 
was  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  palace,  and  whom 
she  occasionally  visited. 

By  the  time  that  Maurice  had  saved  what  money 
was  needful,  he  had  every  thing  prepared,  the  lady 
written  to,  and  expecting  Una's  arrival.  Maurice 
accompanied  her  both  for  her  protection,  and  that 
he  might  see  the  lady  to  whom  he  was  going  to 
intrust  her,  being  resolved  to  bring  her  back  again 
rather  than  leave  her  with  any  one,  with  whom 
either  her  virtue  or  happiness  might  suffer : — it  was 
a  long  journey,  and  seemed  a  perilous  one  too  for 
these  children  like,  with  no  better  directions  than 
what  I  could  give  them;  but  letters  I  gave  them, 
addressed  to  jpious  ecclesiastics  in  Dublin  and 
London,  removed  many  embarrassments,  and  they 
reached  their  journey's  end  in  safety.  And  here 
I  pin  to  the  paper  the  first  letter  I  ever  received 
from  Maurice. 


REVEREND  AND  DEAR  SIR, 

Una  is  settled  to  my  heart's  content, 
with  the  prettiest  old  lady  you  can  imagine,  grave 
in  her  manners,  and  good  you  need  not  doubt, 
when  I  tell  you  that  father  Mansfield  says  he 
knows  none  better.  If  I  did  not  already  owe  all 
the  thanks  a  heart  can  entertain,  I  ought  to  add  a 
thousand  for  your  letter  to  father  Mansfield,  which 
has  made  every  thing  pleasant  in  this  great  town, 
where  otherwise  we  should  have  been  sadly  per- 
plexed or  worse.  Lady  McCartney  seemed  very 
much  surprised  at  Una,  and  would  not  at  first  be- 
lieve, that  she  could  have  been  brought  up  in  so 
low  a  station ;  and  asked  me  seriously,  if  she  was 


24 

not  of  greater  rank  than  I  represented  her.  This 
was  very  flattering  to  Una ;  but  I  told  her  she 
might  depend  on  my  speaking  the  truth,  as  I  hope 
indeed  that  nothing  would  make  me  tell  a  lie. 
But  when  I  saw  that  she  laid  so  much  stress  on 
good  birth,  I  went  for  the  ancient  pedigree,  which 
you  desired  me  to  show  to  her,  and  explained  to  her 
our  direct  descent  from  Shane,  the  eldest  son  of 
the  great  O'Neal,  which  son  was  imprisoned  by 
the  bastard  Hugh,  commonly  called  earl  of  Ti- 
rone,  who  usurped  his  kingdom  which  he  after- 
wards lost,  with  the  ruin  of  his  whole  sept,  in  the 
war  he  waged  with  Queen  Elizabeth,  but  I  forget 
that  I  speak  to  you  who  know  all  this  already. 
Lady  M'Cartney  said  that  she  had  given  up  much 
of  her  time  to  the  study  of  heraldry,  and  examin- 
ed our  pedigree  with  great  attention — she  asked 
me  to  leave  it  with  her,  which  I  of  course  did  ; 
the  next  time  she  saw  me,  these  were  her  very 
words.  "  After  looking  over  this  interesting  docu- 
ment, which  leaves  no  doubt  that  your  sister  ex- 
ceeds my  own  family  (not  a  new  one),  and  most 
of  the  noblest  in  this  country,  in  nobility  and  anti- 
quity, I  blush  to  retain  her  without  a  stipend  in  a 
dependant  situation ;  and  if  you  can  point  out  a 
way,  in  which  I  can  place  her  in  one  more  becom- 
ing her  merit,  I  will  gladly  embrace  it."  I  repli- 
ed "  that  the  providence  of  God  arranged  the  dif- 
ferent ranks  of  men,  and  when  by  such  long  ad- 
versity he  had  so  clearly  condemned  the  race  of 
O'Neal  to  a  subordinate  state,  it  would  be  an  irre- 
ligious, as  well  as  a  foolish  pride,  to  think  one  de- 
served any  thing  better.  That  one  good  quality 
of  its  former  rank  our  family  had  still  retained,  in 
not  being  mercenary ;  and  that  both  Una  and  I 
would  infinitely  prefer  her  remaiaing  without  any 
emolument,  with  a  lady  every  way  so  respectable. 


to  being  placed  in  greater  affluence  where  her 
manners  or  principles  might  be  tarnished." 
Lady  M'Cartney  was  pleased  to  seem  much 
gratified  with  this  answer ;  and  she  treats  Una 
as  her  daughter.  On  Una's  part,  she  admires 
every  word  and  every  motion  of  Lady  M'Cart- 
ney, and  we  should  be  quite  happy,  were  we 
not  so  soon  to  separate. 

You  desired  me  to  tell  you  what  I  thought  of 
England,  and  as  I  have  so  short  an  opportunity 
of  seeing  it,  I  have  kept  my  eyes  awake  the 
whole  day. 

In  one  respect,  chance  favoured  me ;  when 
Una  went  to  Lady  McCartney's  I  took  a  cheap 
lodging,  a  little  way  out  of  town,  with  a  widow 
woman ;  here  a  young  fanner  named  Head- 
croft,  whom  she  had  nursed,  came  to  see  her 
twice ;  the  first  time  hearing  I  was  an  Irishman, 
he  seemed  averse  to  speak  to  me,  for  I  am  sor- 
ry to  find,  dearest  sir,  that  our  countrymen,  with 
their  love  of  drinking,  their  quarrels,  and  the 
shameful  way  they  conduct  themselves  on  Sun- 
day, are  held  in  such  disrepute  here,  that  no 
decent  people  will  speak  to  them.  However  I 
suppose,  the  widow  said  something  in  my  favour, 
for  the  second  time,  the  young  man  seemed  in- 
-clined  to  converse  with  me,  and  asked  me  seve- 
ral questions  respecting  myself.  You  would 
have  laughed  to  see  his  natural  Stare,  when  I 
told  him  I  was  a  common  Irish  labourer;  he 
would  not  believe  it,  my  clothes  he  said,  (for  I 
had  bought  new  ones  not  to  disgrace  Una,)  I 
might  buy  or  borrow,  but"  my  language  and  car- 
riage were  quite  those  of  the  gentlefolks,  and 
3 


26 

where  could  I  have  got  them,  unless  indeed  I 
had  been  in  service  in  some  great  family.  It 
was  no  wonder  he  was  surprised,  for  he  him- 
self, though  neatly  dressed,  spoke  in  a  loud 
rough  voice,  and  in  such  a  dialect,  that  I  could 
scarcely  understand  him,  though  I  understood 
every  word  that  lady  McCartney  said,  at  last  I 
convinced  him  by  offering  to  thresh  or  dig  a 
ditch  with  him ;  I  would  venture  nothing  else, 
for  I  had  already  observed  how  much  better 
they  do  all  other  kind  of  work  here  than  with  us. 
He  asked  me  if  I  could  shear;  and  when  he 
found  I  could,  invited  me  to  his  father's  sheep- 
shearing,  which  I  gladly  accepted,  and  he  said 
he  would  drive  over  in  his  father's  little  cover- 
ed cart  to  bring  me.  Notwithstanding  th<* 
homeliness  and  roughness  of  his  manners,  there 
was  an  honesty,  good  sense,  and  friendliness  in 
my  new  acquaintance,  which  made  me  esteem 
him.  But  guess  my  surprise,  when  on  his  de- 
parture the  widow  told  me  his  father  was  worth 
two  thousand  a  year !  Why  with  us  a  man  who 
is  worth  only  two  hundred  a  year  sets  up  for  an 
idle  gentleman. 

I  began  to  feel  quite  ashamed  at  the  con- 
viction that  I  was  better  bred,  and  spoke  better, 
till  I  recollected  that  it  arose  from  the  instruc- 
tions I  had  received  from  your  bounty.  Yet 
certainly  this  wealthy  rusticity  is  more  respect- 
able than  our  tawdry  indigence,  which  always 
neglects  substance,  and  strives  at  appearance. 

I  was  glad  to  leave  London,  for  as  Lady  M'- 
Cartney  had  said  nothing  to  me  on  the  subject, 
I  did  not  know  whether  she  approved  of  my 


27 

calling  at  her  house,  and  Una  would  have  been 
miserable,  knowing  me  so  near  and  not  seeing 
rue.  When  my  young  friend,  for  so  I  may  now 
call  him,  came  for  me  next  day,  I  asked  him  to 
go  with  me  there,  partly  to  tell  Una  of  my  in- 
tention, and  partly  that  he  might  see  that  I  was 
connected  with  something  in  England,  Una 
came  down  to  us,  and  when  she  heard  my  pur- 
pose, she  gave  one  look,  and  would  not  con* 
descend  to  give  another,  at  my  companion, 
whose  eyes  settled  on  Una  in  one  unceasing 
stare,  from  the  time  she  entered  till  we  depart- 
ed. She  gave  me  an  animated  account  of  her 
happiness  with  Lady  M'Cartney,  and  ended  by 
bursting  into  tears  at  the  thoughts  of  my  de- 
parture, and  ran  away,  without  even  a  curtsey 
to  Mr.  Headcroft.  But  he,  recovering  from 
his  stare  when  the  object  was  flown,  began  again 
accusing  me  of  falsehood,  saying  that  I  must  be 
a  gentleman,  if  that  glorious  girl,  as  he  called 
her,  was  my  sister.  I  laughed  "at  his  doubts, 
and  assured  him  that  Una  could  milk  a  cow,  or 
churn,  as  well  as  his  father's  dairy  maid,  though 
she  looked  slight  and  genteel ;  and  that  her 
present  situation,  in  point  of  gain,  was  inferior 
to  that  of  a  lady's  maid.  However,  as  we 
drove  along,  I  explained  to  him  the  former 
greatness  of  the  O'Neal  family,  and  by  what 
means  it  had  sunk  into  extreme  poverty ;  yet 
still  its  indigent  descendants,  knowing  their 
ancient  greatness,  were  ambitious  to  attain  to 
education  and  good  manners,  though  tkey  des- 
paired of  retrieving  the  prosperity  of  their 
house.  This  a  little  relieved  his  perplexity, 
and  he  began  to  drop  something  of  the  suspicion 
ivith  which  he-  still  seemed  to  regard  me.  And 


- 


28 

oh  what  a  sight  to  me  was  an  English  farm-house 
and  farm  !  every  thing  within  so  clean,  light- 
some, airy,  and  orderly  ;  all  the  yards  so  neatly 
swept ;  the  garden  and  shrubbery  so  trim  *  the 
men  so  decent,  the  maids  so  tidy  ;  the  ground 
so  well  laboured,  not  a  weed— no  scutch  ;  gates 
to  every  field,  hedges  too,  and  all  clipped  ;  and 
such  waggons  and  carts,  and  in  such  profusion, 
with  houses  for  all,  to  save  them  from  sun  and 
weather.  But  oh,  the  horses  !  the  horses  !  never 
shall  I  forget  the  first  time  I  saw  a  waggon  and 
the  eight  noble  animals  that  drew  it,  I  could 
have  fallen  down  on  my  knees  to  them,  as  they 
went  by  ;  and  indeed,  though  while  I  was  on 
foot  about  the  farm,  seeing  and  admiring  every 
thing,  I  was  as  gay  as  the  blaze  of  the  sun  ;  yet 
when  we  came  home  in  the  evening,  and  there 
was  no  conversation  like  yours,  my  dear  sir,  to 
call  one  out  of  oneself,  I  thought  of  our  mise- 
rable cats  of  garrons,  and  logs  of  cars,  the  naked 
fields,  and  all  the  desolation  of  the  headland  of 
Bengore,  I  became  so  sad,  that  when  I  wras  left 
alone  with  young  John  Headcroft,  the  tears 
came  so  fast  from  my  eyes  that  I  could  not  hide 
them.  He  stared  at  me,  but  thinking  it  was 
because  I  felt  strange  among  new  acquaintance, 
told  me  he  was  like  an  old  acquaintance  with 
me  already,  and  his  father  and  all  the  rest  would 
be  in  a  day  or  two.  I  said  that  his  farm  was  a 
darling  spot  of  ground,  and  I  was  quite  obliged 
to  him  for  bringing  me  to  it ;  but  when  I  made 
him  understand  what  it  was  that  had  come 
across  my  mind,  "  Cheer  up,  my  lad,"  said  he, 
"  if  that  is  all,  I  will  bring  father's  waggons  and 
team  over  to  you,  and  set  all  things  to  rights," 
and  he  was  ^uite  in  earnest ;  but  I  who  knew 


23 

iiow  all  our  self-sufficient  boobies  would  set 
their  heads  against  any  thing  new,  shook  my 
head,  and  could  not  help  telling  him  of  our  Sir 
Phelimy  French,  who  brought  over  an  English 
waggon  and  horses,  but  forgot  to  bring  a  driver, 
and  when  he  ordered  it  out,  it  came  round  with 
eight  drivers,  one  to  every  horse,  and  the  horses 
not  knowing  what  was  meant  by  hup  and  hough, 
and  the  drivers  as  little  understanding  what  they 
called  the  humours  of  the  waggon,  it  was  over- 
turned into  the  ha-ha,  pronounced  a  folly,  and 
left  to  rot,  no  office  being  large  enough  to  hold 
it.  Young  Headcroft  roared  with  laughter  at 
this  account,  but  said  he  would  bring  the  waggon 
and  team  notwithstanding,  and  put  on  his  smock 
frock  and  drive  it  himself. 

The  next  day  I  was  very  busy,  getting 
my  companion  to  acquaint  me  with  all  their 
methods  ;  what  bunglers  we  are,  and  idle,  care- 
less bunglers  too,  compared  with  them  !  There 
is  a  part  of  an  English  farming  man's  life  which 
an  Irishman  does  not  live  ;  that  is  between  four 
and  six  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Every  body 
here  rises  before  four  in  winter  :  in  Ireland  no 
one  gets  up  till  half  past  five  in  summer,  nor  till 
half  past  seven  in  winter ;  partly  from  the 
laziness  that  sticks  to  their  bones,  partly  that 
they  think  candlelight  too  expensive,  not  Jknow- 
ing  that  light  and  labour  make  the  two  halves 
of  a  farmer's  fortune.  An  English  labouring 
horse  is  rubbed  down  and  fed  twice  in  a  winter 
morning  ;  before  seven  o'clock  the  ploughmen 
and  carters  have  all  got  their  hot  breakfasts,  and 
are  ready  to  start  by  the  first  sparkle  of  light ; 
once  out,  they  never  return  till  the  work  is 
3* 


30 

finished,  and  only  stop  for  ten  minutes  about  nine, 
while  the  men  eat  a  morsel  of  bread  and  cheese 
and  the  horses  a  lock  of  hay.  They  come  home  at 
two  o'clock,  having  done  twice  the  work  we  do, 
in  one  hour's  less  time  ;  and  there  is  the  whole 
evening,  with  a  good  portion  of  daylight,  to  feed 
and  dress  their  noble  animals  as  they  deserve. 
While  with  us  eight  o'clock  is  an  early  hour  to 
get  to  the  field  in  winter,  where  the  horses  go 
without  their  oats  ;  at  nine  or  half  past  they  are 
to  be  unyoked,  and  brought  back  to  the  stable 
to  be  fed  ;  the  men  have  no  time  to  tend  them, 
for  they  must  get  their  breakfasts,  and  in  half 
an  hour  all  hurry  to  the  field  again. 

The  same  operations  are  repeated,  with  the 
same  neglect  of  horses,  at  one,  when  all  return 
to  dinner.  Away  they  hurry  again  in  an  hour, 
10  get  some  work  done  before  dark,  and  when 
night  approaches,  they  return  home  full  trot  ; 
the  horses  are  turned  to  drink,  which  from  this 
constant  habit  of  heats  and  chills  they  are  able 
to  do  without  being  destroyed ;  there  is  no 
candlelight,  and  the  men,  cold,  comfortless,  and 
often  wet,  hurry  over  dressing  the  horses,  cram 
their  racks  with  hay,  and  all  care  is  over. 

I  have  known  horses  in  Ireland  go  a  mile  in 
winter  to  plough,  which  they  must  go  full  trot, 
or  there  would  be  little  time  left  to  work  ;  so 
that  they  have  to  trot  six  miles  in  addition  to 
their  work,  where  in  England  they  would  only 
have  walked  two.  Time  with  us  is  spent  in 

f'"")ing  to  do  things,  rather  than  in  doing  them, 
ou  know  my  fondness  for  horses,  which  has 
led  me  so  far,  that  I  must  omit  mentioning  many 


other  differences  that  I  have  observed,  and  all, 
I  must  confess,  to  the  advantage  of  the  people 
here  ;  they  have  even  a  variety  of  tools  that  we 
have  no  notion  of.  We  have  no  such  thing  as 
a  yoke  to  carry  milk  pails  ;  though  we  burn  so 
much  land,  we  have  no  breast-plough  for  a  man 
to  cut  sods  ;  we  have  not  even  such  things  as 
fencing  gloves,  but  with  us,  when  a  man  wants 
to  cut  a  hedge,  he  puts  his  left  hand  into  his  hat, 
as  the  best  means  of  handling  the  thorns. 

With  us  labour  is  called  slavery  ;  here  they 
have  a  pride  in  it,  and  young  Headcroft  told 
me,  that  he  should  not  be  able  to  hold  up  his 
head,  if  he  was  not  able  to  mow,  reap,  thrash, 
drive  a  Waggon,  and  do  every  tlting  else  better 
than  the  other  lads.  At  first  I  own  I  neither 
liked  young  Headcroft,  nor  any  of  his  family, 
they  seemed  so  little  agreeable  ;  but  they  im- 
proved every  day,  and  when  I  began  to  reflect 
on  all  the  vicious  and  pernicious  qualities  of 
our  "  hail  fellow,  well  met,  and  lively  boys,"  I 
was  obliged  to  give  the  preference  to  the  home- 
ly English.  What  will  Merritt  M;  Cormick 
think  of  the  young  fellows  here,  when  he  hears 
that  they  do  not  know  how  to  dance  ?  and  yet, 
when  I  saw  them  in  their  clean  white  smock 
frocks,  sitting  quietly  in  the  farm  kitchen  on 
Sunday,  and  listening  to  old  Mr.  Headcroft 
reading  the  Bible,  or  reading  some  religious 
book  themselves,  I  wished  that  I  could  be  sure 
that  Merritt  was  at  the  same  time  as  well  em- 
ployed. Yet  there  certainly  are  great  faults  in 
the  character  of  this  people,  for  they  were 
striking  in  all  of  them.  They  are  always  think- 
ing of  themselves,  and  eat  up  with  conceit  and 


32 

selfishness.  They  either  pride  themselves  in  a 
coarse  unfeelingness,  or  fall  into  an  affectation 
of  humanity,  which  equally  proves  them  desti- 
tute of  ail  heart  and  nature.  I  heard  of  and 
observed  instances  of  extreme  obdurity  between 
the  nearest  connexions,  which  were  shocking. 
Even  aunt  M'Cormick,  beast  as  she  is,  would 
share  her  last  meal  with  a  cousin,  and  would 
never  say  an  uncivil  word  to  a  stranger.  They 
are  also  great  vaunters,  and  when  they  do  talk, 
-  every  thing  they  say  is  with  an  air,  but  clumsi- 
ly concealed,  of  exalting  themselves,  or  some- 
thing belonging  to  them.  The  same  selfishness 
makes  them  gluttons  both  in  meat  and  drink  ; 
all  their  farming  merits  and  virtues,  which  are 
without  end,  se*em  to  have  no  other  object  but 
the  gratification  of  this  gross  sensuality.  And 
the  only  unpleasing  object  you  see  about  the 
farm  is  the  possessor,  who,  at  a  middle  age,  is 
literally  crammed  with  ale  and  meat;  and  is 
swollen  into  an  enormous  disproportion  of  flesh, 
to  which  I  never  saw  any  thing  similar  in  Ire- 
land. It  is  the  strangest  shape !  a  pig,  when  he 
gets  fat,  fattens  at  all  points,  and  still  keeps  a 
certain  symmetry ;  but  an  English  farmer  flat- 
tens down  as  he  gets  bloated,  and  if  it  was  not 
for  the  immense  number  of  these  shapes  that 
you  see,  who  keep  each  other  in  countenance, 
I  should  think  that  they  would  be  ashamed  to 
appear  abroad.  These  people  too  have  no 
look,  language,  or  manner,  that  expresses  affec- 
tion, but  they  are  great  critics  of  proprieties  ; 
and  I  found  from  young  Headcroft,  that  the  un- 
guardedness  of  my  Irish  manners  had  led  me 
into  a  great  many  offences  against  what  they 
considered  good  breeding.  All  their  conversa* 


33 

tion  too  consists  in  commonplace  observations, 
which  extreme  inanity  seems  to  arise  as  much 
from  the  coldness  of  their  hearts  as  from  the 
poverty  of  their  imaginations.  Yet  notwith- 
standing these  great  deficiencies  in  manners  and 
character,  in  point  of  conduct,  and  the  virtues 
of  their  station,  they  far  exceed  us.  I  was  sur- 
prised at  the  difference  between  an  English  and 
an  Irish  fair  :  at  the  latter,  every  species  of  the 
grossest  fraud  is  practised;  and  a  man  can 
scarcely  do  business  to  any  extent,  from  the 
perpetual  wrangles  he  is  engaged  in  to  avoid  im- 
position :  but  in  an  English  fair,  words  are  bind- 
ing oaths,  and  business  passes  on  quietly  and 
speedily.  Another  great  and  pure  feature  they 
possess,  which  it  grieves  my  heart  to  know  how 
sadly  we  want, — their  women  never  drink. 
Almost  every  vice  of  our  character  I  could  con- 
fess here,  but  I  should  have  died  with  shame  to 
have  allowed  this.  As  I  found  that  to  work 
well  was  the  only  thing  that  gave  a  man  credit 
here,  I  set  out  with  the  mowers, — as  you  know 
that  I  am  reckoned  a  first  rate  hand  among  our- 
selves ;  but  I  soon  found  that  I  had  need  of  all 
my  Irish  indifference  to  success,  to  keep  me  in 
countenance  ;  for  though  I  made  twice  the 
efforts  of  my  companions,  I  could  but  just  keep 
up  with  them  ;  and  while  they  cut  close,  and 
even  without  distressing  themselves,  my  mowing, 
with  all  my  exertions,  was  execrable  ;  being 
used  to  our  straight  handled  scythes,  I  stooped 
too  low,  and  did  not  understand  the  set  of  mine  ; 
so  that  I  was  the  derision  of  the  whole  field. 
At  last  one  of  them,  better  natured  than  the 
rest,  said,  "  Lord  love  thee,  lad,  thou  wilt  kill 
thyself,  and  break  thy  back  at  this  fashion  5  what 


34 

queer  sort  of  a  tool  hast  thou  been  used  to  cut 
with  ?n  So,  desiring  me  to  stand  more  upright, 
and  setting  my  scythe  not  quite  so  flat,  I  found 
that  I  could  mow  with  much  more  ease  than 
ever  I  had  done  before,  and  before  I  left  the 
field,  they  all  pronounced  that  I  promised  well. 

In  the  evening  I  had  my  revenge  ;  for  while 
the  men  were  boasting  after  their  fashion  of 
their  feats  of  activity  and  strength,  I  took  up  a 
half  hundred  weight,  and  challenged  them  to 
try  who  would  throw  it  the  farthest.  I  threw  it 
a  few  steps  ;  all  the  men  tried  again  and  again, 
but  could  not  throw  so  far.  Young  Headcroft 
strained  with  all  his  might,  but  fell  far  short :  and 
after  several  attempts,  each  being  less  successful 
than  the  first,  he  grew  peevish  and  angry. ,  I 
again  took  the  weight,  and  exerting  myself  for  the 
honour  of  my  country,  if  honour  it  can  be  called, 
with  that  peculiar  spring  of  the  whole  body  from 
the  ground,  which  you,  dear  sir,  have  seen  on 
many  a  market  day,  I  flung  the  weight  three 
times  as  far  as  I  had  done  at  first.  They  all 
seemed  astonished,  and  would  try  no  more  :  but 
young  Headcroft  said  it  was  all  a  trick,  he  was 
sure.  "  No  trick  at  all,"  I  replied,  "but  only 
practice  :  what  made  you  mow  better  than  I  this 
morning  makes  me  fling  a  weight  better  than  you 
this  evening."  However,  he  was  so  much  put  out 
of  his  way  by  being  outdone,  even  in  so  trifling  a 
matter,  that  it  was  not  till  I  had  put  myself 
under  his  tuition  again,  and  he  had  an  opportu- 
nity of  showing  his  superiority  in  many  ways, 
that  he  recovered  his  temper.  Indeed  it  was 
impossible  to  see  him  so  adroit,  athletic,  and 
active  in  the  field,  without  admiration ;  while 


3d 

the  care,  order,  and  method,  with  which  he- 
caused  every  thing  to  be  done,  showed  that  his 
mental  were  equal  to  his  bodily  powers.  His 
father  was  justly  proud  of  him,  and  while  he 
passed  most  o£  his  time  drinking  ale,  smoking 
before  his  door,  or  riding  on  a  fat  easy  pad  tQ 
fa.rs  and  markets,  he  left  all  the  labour  of  the 
farm  to  his  son. 

I  had  often  wished  for  a  friend  of  my  own 
age,  and  sometimes  thought  I  could  have  found 
such  a  one  in  young  Headcroft,  for  the  sincerity 
and  bluntness  of  his  English  manners  appeared 
to  me  something  new  and  admirable  ;  but  his 
eternal  attention  to  maintain  his  superiority  in 
frivolous  matters  gave  him  a  cold  and  captious 
manner  ;  and  though  he  was  obliging  enough  to 
me,  he  was  overbearing  to  his  inferiors,  and 
often  violent  and  unjust. 

A  few  days  after  my  arrival,  while  we  were 
washing  the  sheep,  Headcroft  was  teazing  a 
young  fellow  something  older  with  common- 
place wit,  and  practical  jokes,  and  I  think  was 
making  an  opportunity  of  showing  me  his  prow- 
ess in  boxing  :  for  the  young  fellow  seemed  to 
suspect  his  intention,  for,  losing  his  patience— 
"  I  tell  you  what,  young  master,"  he  said,  "  if 
your  blood  is  so  hot  to  day  that  it  wants  cooling, 
I  am  your  man  :"  and  began  to  strip  off  his 
smock-frock  and  shirt.  From  this  challenge 
Headcroft  had  neither  the  power  nor  inclination 
to  withdraw.  A  ring, was  made  with  much  glee 
and  vociferation,  and  the  combat  began. 

Though  these  boxing  matches  in  fact  often 
exhibit  more  generous  courage  than  our  mod- 


36 

ern  campaigns,  yet  undoubtedly  it  is  very  inhu- 
man to  take  delight  in  looking  at  them ;  and 
this  same  savage  temper,  which  Christianity  put 
an  end  to  at  Rome,  has  been  renewed  in  Eng- 
land, by  that  sickening  affectation  of  honest 
coarseness  and  brutality,  which  is  mistaken  for 
manliness  in  this  country.  For  my  part,  know- 
ing it  in  vain  to  interfere,  where  so  much  sport 
would  be  lost  to  the  spectators  by  a  reconcilia- 
tion, and  having  no  desire  to  see  any  one,  much 
less  a  person  I  was  inclined  to  call  my  friend 
in  such  a  plight,  I  staid  to  mind  the  sheep,  and 
thought  on  the  different  ways  in  which  quarrels 
were  managed  here  and  in  Ireland :  and  in  this 
instance  I  cannot  but  allow,  that  the  English  show 
themselves  as  generous  as  we  are  base,  coward- 
ly, and  savage.  For  in  England  a  man  always 
depends  upon  his  own  courage,  he  never  tries 
to  raise  a  party  or  faction  to  join  him  in  fight- 
ing; whereas  it  is  only  backed  by  a  mob  of 
friends  that  an  Irishman  will  fight.-— In  England 
too  it  would  be  reckoned  a  monstrous  shame 
and  scandal  for  two  men  to  fall  upon  one,  or  to 
strike  a  man  when  on  the  ground ;  but  in  Ire- 
land, twenty  men  will  basely  fall  upon  one,  and 
it  is  when  they  have  him  down  on  the  ground, 
that  all  their  savage  revenge  gluts  itself,  by  try- 
ing to  beat  him  to  death. — In  England  too  a 
man  disdains  to  use  any  other  weapon  but  those 
that  nature  has  given  him — his  clenched  fists  : 
but  an  Irish  combatant  never  thinks  himself  fit 
for  action  without  a  stick,  generally  loaded  with 
lead ;  or  will  seize  a  knife,  to  have  his  revenge. 

The  combat  ended  as  I  expected,  in  favour 
of  young  Headcroft ;  who  returned  home  in  tri- 


iiinph  to  wash  the  blood  off  his  face,  accompa- 
nied by  all  the  workmen,  applauding  his  prow- 
ess. The  other  young  fellow,  like  all  people 
wanting  success,  was  deserted.  Some  of  his 
companions  helped  him  on  with  his  clothes,  and 
then  followed  the  rest.  I  found  him  very  much 
hurt  and  bruised,  and  in  such  pain  from  a  blow 
he  had  received  in  the  loins,  that  he  never 
would  have  reached  his  home  that  day  without 
my  help, 

I  was  well  rewarded  for  my  trouble,  by  see- 
ing a  perfect  pattern  of  a  comfortable  English 
cottage  :  but  at  first  I  had  not  leisure  to  exa- 
mine it,  for  the  young  man,  whose  name  was 
John  Mapleton,  retched  violently,  and  grew  so 
ill,  that  finding  there  was  no  apothecary  near, 
I  made  his  father  and  mother  put  him  to  bed, 
and  bled  him  myself ;  but  he  still  continued  in 
great  pain,  till  I  caused  his  side  to  be  stuped, 
which  gave  him  relief.  His  mother  was  alarm- 
ed at  his  situation,  and  was  unwilling  to  let  me 
go :  she  pressed  me  much  to  stay  there  that 
night,  and  I  was  so  ill  pleased  with  John  Head- 
croft's  treatment  of  this  young  man,  that  I  felt 
inclined  to  comply  ;  but  then  reflecting  that  he 
had  been  kind  and  hospitable  to  myself,  I  did 
not  think  it  right  to  do  any  thing  that  would 
give  him  offence,  so  returned  before  night. 

I  found  that  John  Headcroft  had  been  unea- 
sy at  my  staying  away,  and  cleared  up  at  my 
return,  when  we  were  alone,  and  he  asked  me 
why  I  staid  so  late  :  I  told  him  honestly,  that  I 
thought  so  ill  of  his  demeaning  himself  in  the 
manner  he  had  done,  and  putting  himself  even 
4 


38 

below  one  of  his  father's  workmen,  that  I  had 
thoughts  of  not  returning  again.  He  heard  me 
with  more  patience  than  I  expected  ;  and  when 
I  told  him  that  Mapleton  was  seriously  hurt,  he 
turned  quite  pale  ;  and  spoke  with  so  much  re- 
gard for  the  young  man,  and  so  much  sorrow  for 
the  provocation  he  had  given  him,  that  I  became 
quite  reconciled  to  him.  Indeed,  he  said,  it 
was  partly  owing  to  my  casting  the  weight  so 
much  farther  than  he,  which  put  him  upon 
showing  me  some  proof  of  his  strength,  and  he 
only  fixed  upon  John  Mapleton,  because  he 
knew  that  he  was  the  stoutest  and  most  cour- 
ageous lad  among  the  men.  I  said  something  of 
the  folly  of  caring  so  much  for  this  kind  of  su- 
periority, and  then  let  it  drop,  for  1  found  him 
really  generous  at  heart,  and  afflicted  at  what 
he  had  done. 

The  next  morning  I  went  again  to  see  John 
Mapleton,  and  found  him  still  confined  to  his 
bed ;  his  Bible  lay  by  his  side,  which  he  had 
been  attempting  to  read,  but  could  not  raise 
himself  sufficiently  to  read  with  ease.  I  offer- 
ed to  read  to  him,  which  he  thankfully  accept- 
ed :  and  when  I  laid  by  the  book,  and  naturally 
fell  into  discourse  on  holy  subjects,  he  spoke 
with  a  warmth  and  earnestness,  which  surprised 
me  in  an  Englishman  ;  and  1  stood  convicted  to 
myself  of  having  much  the  colder  heart  of  the 
two  in  the  most  material  point.  Why  is  it,  my 
dear  sir,  that  when  my  spirits  kindle,  when 
touched  by  excellence  of  any  kind,  here  alone, 
where  every  excellence  of  character  and  pre- 
cept is  displayed,  my  soul  is  languid  arid  inert. 


39 

and  every  idle  thought  has  power  to  divert  me 
from  this  sublime  and  heart-moving  book  ? 

I  found  the  family  of  the  Headcrofts,  with 
the  exception  of  their  son,  now  less  agreeable 
to  me,  as  they  seemed  to  consider  my  going  to 
the  Mapletons  as  taking  a  part  against  their  son 
—but  it  must  have  been  a  much  weightier  rea- 
son that  would  have  prevented  my  going — I 
therefore  did  not  return  till  late  in  the  evening, 
when  the  father  and  mother  were  gone  to  bed, 
and  I  sat  up  an  hour  or  two  with  John  Head- 
croft,  before  we  went  to  ours.  I  principally 
tried  to  dissuade  him  from  a  habit  he  was  be- 
ginning, of  drinking  a  vast  quantity  of  ale  and 
some  spirits  ;,  but  he  saw  me  held  in  such 
derision  by  the  rest  of  the  family,  for  drinking 
no  strong  liquors,  that  1  found,  to  my  sorrow,  for 
I  began  to  have  a  real  regard  for  him,  that  I  only 
beat  a  rock  and  gathered  foam.  I  returned 
with  increasing  pleasure  to  the  more  homely 
and  sober  fare  at  the  Mapletons'  cottage,  which, 
with  the  exception  of  strong  beer  and  spirits, 
was  equally  abundant  and  comfortable  as  at  far- 
mer Headcroft's,  with  the  adv  antage  of  a  pious, 
grateful,  and  friendly  disposition,  which  marked 
every  member  of  the  family  ;  there  was  his  sis- 
ter, whom,  though  I  never  heard  her  speak  but 
once,  I  could  have  looked  at  for  hours,  to 
fix  in  my  mind  the  exact  model  of  how  one 
would  wish  a  good  girl  to  be  fashioned  in  man- 
ner, feature,  and  dress.  His  mother  was  a 
spare,  small  woman,  with  high,  stiff  stays,  look- 
ing at  least  ten  years  older  than  she  was  ;  yet 
to  see  the  quantity  of  work  she  got  through  in  a 
day,  besides  settling,  polishing,  and  cleaning 


40 

every  thing  in  the  house,  and  about  the  house, 
would  amaze  one  of  our  clever  girls,  as  they  are 
called,  who  wear  out  clay  floors  by  dancing  jigs, 
and  have  long  trains  to  their  gowns. 

The  father  walked  stiff,  and  had  a  great  stoop 
from  using  their  short  handled  spade  and  shov- 
el.— After  he  returned  from  his  day's  work,  he 
used  to  take  a  turn  at  his  own  garden,  and  in 
three  hours  in  the  evening,  did  more  and  better 
work,  than  an  Irish  labourer  would  do  in  a 
whole  day.  It  was  all  from  the  short  handled 
spade  :  their  spade  is  all  spade,  and  will  lift 
twice  as  much  as  our  broadest  shovel ;  our  fac 
is  all  handle,  it  lifts  but  little,  and  half  of  that 
falls  off,  as  we  do  not  lift  with  our  arms,  but  by 
sticking  one  knee  under  the  long  handled  fac, 
a  thing  which  no  Englishman  would  compre- 
hend. When  I  return,  I  will  make  my  fortune 
by  cutting  three  feet  off  the  handle  of  my  fac. 

I  have  been  several  days  without  adding  any 
thing  to  this  long  letter,  but  as  I  shall  have  no 
opportunity  of  sending  it,  till  a  friend  of  Mr. 
Mansfield's  goes  to  Ireland,  I  still  can  indulge 
myself  in  that  greatest  pleasure,  seeming  to 
hold  converse  with  you. — Dear  sir,  how  often 
do  I  think  of  you,  and  never  without  affection 
and  gratitude. 

I  wish  I  could  scratch  out  all  I  have  said 
against  the  English,  for  this  family  of  the  Ma- 
pletons  convinces  me,  that  we  have  nothing 
half  so  good  in  Ireland,  and  I  believe  there  are 
many,  many  such  in  England  ;  but  quiet,  virtu- 
ous people  are  little  noticed.  Here  good  peo- 


41 

pie  seem  contented  to  be  known  only  to  God  ; 
but  in  Ireland  the  best  must  converse,  and  walk 
about,  and  smoke  tobacco.  I  wish,  dear  sir, 
you  could  see  this  cottage,  where  every  thing 
is  so  still  arid  clean  ;  every  room  has  two  large 
windows,  that  are  brightened  and  cleaned  every 
day  ;  the  house  is  surrounded  with  a  flower  gar- 
den, that  has  twenty  flowers  that  I  never  saw — 
the  path  up  to  the  door  is  paved,  with  a  board- 
ed railing  on  each  side  ;  the  floor  of  the  house 
is  three  steps  high,  and  paved  with  brick,  so 
that  it  is  quite  dry  ;  and  as  it  is  swept  every  day, 
and  covered  with  sand,  there  is  not  a  trace  of 
mud  to  be  seen  ; — the  walls  are  covered  with 
roses,  but  what  surprised  me  most,  was  the 
quantity  and  value  of  the  furniture  ;  there  is  a 
complete  set  of  kitchen  furniture  and  pewter, 
two  mahogany  tables,  and  a  mahogany  chest  of 
drawers,  an  excellent  eight  day  clock,  a  book- 
case and  very  good  books,  a  dozen  of  excellent 
oak  chairs,  a  set  of  china,  a  great  chest  full  of 
linen,  and  thirty  flowerpots  of  beautiful  green- 
house plants,  in  the  kitchen  only ;  there  are  two 
sitting  rooms  small,  but  completely  furnished,  as 
are  all  the  bed  rooms  with  excellent  feather 
beds,  and  in  the  out  offices  there  is  nothing 
wanting  a  labouring  man  could  wish  for.  And 
yet,  I  do  not  find  that  they  ever  earned  more 
than  a  labouring  man  and  his  family  could  do  in 
Ireland,  if  they  worked  well. 

Old  Mr.  Mapleton  told  me,  that  he  and  his 
wife  had  saved  seventy  pounds  before  they  mar- 
ried, so  that  they  were  able  to  furnish  their  cot- 
tage decently,  and  he  added,  that  though  his  was 
something  larger,  almost  every  labourer's  cot* 
4* 


tage  was  as  well  provided.  He  could  scarcely 
believe  me,  when  I  told  him  that  our  labourers  in 
Ireland  married  without  having  any  furniture  pro- 
vided, and  often  without  a  house  over  their  heads. 
One  thing  I  particularly  admired,  which  was, 
that  neither  hen,  nor  pig,  was  allowed  to  come 
near  the  house — the  pigs  were  shut  up  in  a  stye, 
and  the  hens  had  their  wings  clipped,  and  a  little 
ladder  was  set  for  them  to  climb  to  their  roost. 
A  pig  that  goes  about  a  house,  as  with  us,  certain- 
ly destroys  more  than  he  is  worth,  besides  mak- 
ing every  thing  dirty  and  unwholesome  ;  and  he 
behaves  well,  if  in  the  end  he  does  not  breed  a 
fever.  The  first  destruction  of  an  Irish  cabin 
commences  with  the  hen,  which  flies  up  on  the 
thatch,  and  scratches  for  an  odd  grain  of  corn  ; 
no  one  regards  her,  or  the  hole  she  makes; 
here  the  rain  penetrates  the  thatch,  not  indeed 
so  much  at  first  as  to  enter  the  house,  so  it  is  lit- 
tle thought  of,  but  it  lodges  on  the  mud  wall,  soft- 
ens it  more  and  more,  till  a  sharp  winter's  frost 
bursts  the  wall ;  and  the  cold  weather,  or  the 
villain  that  worked  the  mud,  bears  the  blame. 

One  thing  makes  me  very  proud,  which  is  to 
find  how  much  like  an  English  body  my  darling 
Una  managed  our  poor  cabin.  She  had  all  these 
sort  of  tidynesses,  and  careful  thoughts*  But  I  do 
a  great  wrong  to  this  choice  family,  to  talk  so 
long  about  what  is  mere  outside,  the  cleanliness, 
purity,  and  propriety,  which  is  seen  here,  arises 
from  the  same  qualities  in  their  minds,  and  you 
will  think  still  more  highly  of  them,  when  you 
know  that  they  all  spring  from  religion. 

Praising  Mrs.  Mapleton*  for  the  cleanliness  of 
her  house,  she  replied ;  "  I  should  think  myself 


43 

a  bad  Christian  if  it  were  otherwise ;  if  I  were 
to  get  a  gift  from  a  friend,  the  least  I  could  do, 
would  be  to  keep  it  neat^nd  clean  ;  and  are  not 
all  the  things  I  have  gifts  of  God  ?  The  very  flow- 
ers in  our  garden  He  gives  for  our  pleasure  ;  and 
would  it  not  be  a  sin,  to  let  them  be  soiled,  or 
overrun  with  weeds  ?  How  much  more  then,  if 
I  had  let  my  children,  who  when  young  were  as 
pretty  as  spring  flowers,  grow  up  in  dirt  and 
slovenliness  ?  I  often  think  of  our  blessed  Sa- 
viour's washing  his  twelve  disciples'  feet,  that 
it  was  intended  to  instruct  us  to  be  cleanly,  as 
well  as  humble.  And  sinners  as  we  are,  yet 
temples  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  we  ought  therefore 
to  keep  our  body  as  free  from  stain  as  possible, 
that  it  may  be  so  far  worthy  of  its  heavenly  in- 
habitant. But  even  if  cleanliness  were  not  a 
Christian  duty,  it  merits  favour  on  its  own  ac- 
count.— I  am  certain  it  saves  a  world  of  apothe- 
caries' stuff,  at  least  we  have  never  had  occasion 
for  any  in  our  house,  and  it  is  my  belief,  that  if 
children  are  kept  quite  clean,  they  will  seldom 
be  sick ;  besides,  it  makes  them  comfortable  in 
themselves,  and  good  humoured,  with  a  more 
loving  feeling  towards  their  parents,  and  more 
amenable,  so  that  I  look  on  it,  that  for  children 
to  be  quite  clean  is  at  least  half  way  to  their 
being  good." 

I  have  put  by  themselves  the  remaining  odd 
sheets  of  the  dear  child's  letters,  because  he 
spoke  of  me  therein  better  than  1  merited.  I  got 
his  letter,  the  matter  of  a  month  before  he  return- 
ed himself,  for  he  travelled  back  on  foot,  that 
he  might  leave  every  copper  he  had  to  spare 
with  his  sister,  except  a  Virgilius  cum  notis  va- 


44 

riorum,  which  he  complimented  me  with.  The 
Headcrofts  wished  him  good  bye  at  parting, 
that  was  all,  not  one  of  them  gave  him  a  shake 
of  the  hand,  which  is  inconceivable  to  me,  only 
young  Headcroft,  he  said,  "  looked  disconcert- 
ed." But  when  he  returned  to  Ireland,  he  said, 
he  recollected  a  great  deal  more  good  in  them, 
than  he  had  noticed  while  he  was  with  them — 
but  he  was  mightily  taken  with  the  good  Maple- 
tons  ;  the  young  man  followed  him  to  town, 
with  a  present  of  a  large  cheese  of  his  mothers 
making. 

He  too,  though  he  lingered  and  lingered, 
would  have  parted  with  a  leaden  good  bye,  but 
Maurice  knowing  his  nature,  shook  both  his 
hands,  then  he  wept  out,  and  if  it  had  not  been 
for  duty  to  his  parents,  would  have  followed 
Maurice  to  Ireland.  As  it  was,  he  begged  Mau- 
rice to  give  him  some  kind  of  direction  to  find 
him,  for  that  he  would  find  him  out  if  he  did  not 
die,  and  if  he  did,  he  would  remember  his  kind- 
ness to  him  to  the  last. 

"  And  how,"  said  I  to  Maurice,  after  he  had 
been  telling  me  of  the  wonders  of  wealth  he 
saw  in  England,  "  how  will  you  feel  yourself  in 
your  mud  cabin  now  ?" 

"  Nothing  worse,"  says  he,  "  in  truth,  father, 
though  I  often  admired,  I  seldom  envied  the 
English ;  they  pamper  themselves  too  much  ; 
they  are  poisoned  with  roses.  And  more  is  the 
pity,  for  they  are  the  cleanest,  cleverest,  and 
most  industrious  people  you  could  cut  out,  if  you 
had  the  making  of  them  with  a  pair  of  scissars ; 


45 

and  I  trust  I  shall  profit  all  my  life  long  by  hav- 
ing been  amongst  them." 

Profit  he  did,  and  that  forthwith.  He  had 
lived  well  while  in  England,  and  was  in  full 
strength  and  health.  He  immediately  looked 
out  for  a  job  of  task  work,  and  as  it  was  well 
known,  that  he  would  finish  his  work  to  perfec- 
tion, equally  as  well  by  task  as  by  days'  work, 
he  had  his  choice.  His  earnings  were  large, 
and  his  expense  little,  for  he  drank  nothing  but 
milk  or  water,  and  ate  cold  meat  and  bread. 
He  lived  alone,  like  a  hermit,  getting  a  neigh- 
bour's wife  to  buy  his  meat  and  boil  it  for  him ; 
still  as  he  earned  his  money,  he  laid  it  out  in 
getting  tools  made  after  the  English  fashion. 
He  soon  had  a  short  handled  spade  and  a  broad 
shovel,  and  was  secretly  getting  a  plough,  har- 
rows, and  a  set  of  draining  tools  made,  as  he 
began  to  speculate  on  taking  his  Ian 4  into  his 
own  hands,  and  managing  it,  as  John  Headcroft 
had  taught  him.  He  waited  impatiently  till 
the  mowing  began,  which  was  late  in  the  coun- 
try round  about.  Good  mowers  were  as  usual 
scarce,  and  the  price  enormous,  five  shillings  an 
acre.  Maurice  contracted  to  mow  so  much, 
that  every  one  supposed  he  meant  to  engage 
undermen  to  assist  him  ;  he  set  to  work  with  a 
good  scythe  and  a  bent  handle,  so  that  he  had 
no  longer  to  mow  with  his  chin  almost  on  his 
knees,  as  his  neighbours  did. 

Then,  instead  of  working  through  the  day  as 
was  the  fashion  of  the  country,  under  the  hot 
sun,  when  the  grass  got  dry  and  cut  harsh  and 
difficult,  he  began  to  mow  with  the  first  foot-fall 


46 

of  the  morning,  or,  as  was  said,  the  middle  of 
the  night,  in  the  middle  of  the  day  he  lay  down 
in  the  shade  and  slept,  and  began  again  in  the 
cool  of  the  evening,  for  he  had  learnt  in  Eng- 
land, not  only  what  every  man's  sense  would 
tell  him,  that. he  could  work  harder  and  pleas- 
anter  in  the  cool  than  in  the  heat ;  but  that  the 
grass  cut  twice  as  easy  while  sappy  and  wet  with 
the  dew.  By  this  means  Maurice  did  twice  as 
much  as  the  country  mowers,  with  less  fatigue 
than  they  had ;  but  the  humour  was,  that  when 
the  passers-by  saw  such  an  unusual  quantity 
mown  every  day,  and  yet  Maurice  scarcely  ever 
seen  at  work,  they  gave  out  that  the  fairies  mow- 
ed for  him,  which  was  quite  unusual ;  though  for 
fairies  to  make  hay  was  not,  as  I  myself  and  ma- 
ny others  have  often  seen  on  a  calm  summer's 
day,  when  there  was  not  a  sigh  in  the  air,  the 
hay  is  suddenly  lifted  up,  and  scattered  all  over 
the  sky,  in  a  thousand  whirls  and  frolics. 

To  mowing  succeeded  a  job  of  reaping  and 
thrashing,  and  then  a  heavy  piece  of  ditching, 
which  turned  out  unusually  profitable  to  him,  from 
the  use  of  his  broad  short  handled  spade.  In 
truth,  if  Maurice  did  the  work  of  four  men,  the 
spade  did  the  work  of  two,  for  it  dug  and  threw 
up  the  clay  at  once  ;  whereas  a  shoveller  is 
always  forced  to  attend  the  narrow  fac  to  lift  up 
all  it  drops,  which  is  half  what  it  digs,  then  the 
shovel  being  worn  and  narrow,  drops  again  half 
what  it  attempts  to  lift,  and  both  fac-man  and 
shovel-man,  repugning  to  bend  their  backs,  the 
day's  work  has  very  little  to  show  for  itself  when 
it  is  ended. 


47 

Thus  earning  much,  and  spending  little,  Mau- 
rice again  grew  rich,  so  much  so,  that  he  found 
leisure  to  while  away  the  Christmas  holidays 
under  my  thatch.  Yet  idle  he  was  not,  nor  ever 
could  be.  His  mornings  he  employed  in  bring- 
ing my  garden  into  regularity,  and  refitting  my 
mansion  ;  which  having  been  built  by  the  bless- 
ed Tuathal,  son  of  Feradah,  Abbot  of  Rahery 
and  Darmagh,  was  more  sacred  than  sound  ; 
and  though  it  had  space  and  accommodation, 
and  had  an  up-stairs  and  down-stairs,  yet  it  was . 
but  a  ragged  edifice.  During  the  evenings  he 
studied  the  French  tongue,  foreseeing  that  Una 
would  reside  in  that  country.  He  had  a  mar- 
vellous ear  for  what  is  noble  and  pure  in  diction, 
though  this  in  not  uncommon  neither  in  Ireland 
among  the  poorest,  seldom  using  a  vulgar  or  in- 
elegant phrase,  he  at  once  perceived  the  differ- 
ence between  my  colloquial  style  in  English  and 
in  French.  "  It  comes  from  this,"  said  I,  ex- 
plaining it,  "  that  I  picked  up  my  English  at  a 
hedge  school,  and  the  professors  of  our  religion, 
being  excluded  from  polished  society  in  Ire- 
land, communicate  too  much  with  vulgar  and 
illiterate  men,  and  catch  the  inelegant  turns  of 
their  diction:  but  in  France  and  Spain,  where  my 
profession  is  held  in  respect,  I  mixed  familiarly 
with  nobles  and  princesses,  and  acquired  the  lan- 
guage of  the  court." 

About  this  time  Maurice  began  to  be  much 
aggrieved  by  his  cousin  Merritt  M'Cormick, 
who,  thinking  himself  the  prettier  fellow  of  the 
two,  began  early  to  show  an  envy  of  Maurice's 
success,  especially  of  the  favour  he  was  in  with 
me  ;  though  he  himself  valued  it  so  little,  that 


48 

he  set  his  actions  up  in  defiance  of  me ;  and 
though  he  would  not  treat  me  with  any  disre- 
spect, yet  he  braved  my  censure  with  his  jokes. 
I  met  him  reeling  drunk,  poor  lad,  not  twenty- 
one  years  old  ;  and  instead  of  avoiding  me,  he 
came  bluffly  staggering  by.  "  And  are  you  not 
ashamed,"  cried  I, "  to  make  a  beast  of  your- 
self." "  And  tell  me  now,  Father,"  says  he, 
4i  what  virtue  would  there  be  in  a  glass  of 
whiskey,  if  it  did  not  make  an  alteration  in  a 
man."  He  was  the  most  audacious  liar  I  ever 
knew ;  for  his  whole  face  lied  as  well  as  his 
tongue,  he  could  throw  into  it  such  an  assurance 
of  simplicity  and  veracity.  I  asked  him  why 
he  preferred  telling  a  lie,  even  though  there 
seemed  no  advantage  in  it.  "  From  pure  cau- 
tion, father,"  says  he,  "  and  forethought  :  you 
may  unsay  a  lie  if  you  find  it  distressing,  but  you 
cannot  unsay  the  truth,  if  it  is  ever  so  inconve- 
nient :  lies  are  like  snail's  horns,  you  throw  out 
one  or  two  just  to  feel  your  way,  and  if  all's  safe, 
then  come  out  of  your  shell  and  welcome." 
Now  he  would  say  all  these  hellish  aphorisms 
in  the  most  natural  and  self-complacent  manner ; 
so  that  one  could  have  laughed,  if  there  had 
not  been  a  soul  in  jeopardy.  Wherever  there 
was  a  crowd,  there  was  he ; — at  fair,  patron, 
wake,  christening,  wedding,  funeral,  all  was  one ; 
he  would  raise  a  debate  among  the  crowd  out- 
side the  chapel  door,  and  skirmish  with  all  the 
wits,  till  they  had  not  a  word  left  to  say  for 
themselves  ;  and  the  gapers  were  bursting  with 
laughing.  I  would  send  out  to  know  what 
was  the  sense  of  the  uproar ;  and  was  sure  to 
find  that  it  was  Merritt  M'Cormick  funning. 
Yet  though  he  had  not  one  good  principle,  he 


49    . 

liad  imbibed,  I  suppose  from  his  mother's  milk, 
a  strong  tincture  of  superstition.  He  would 
not  even  drink  milk  on  a  fast  day,  and  took 
great  merit  to  himself  in  attending  every  funeral 
within  the  Island ;  and  he  was  so  observant  of 
this  ceremony,  that  he  nearly  lost  his  life  by 
persisting  in  attending  one,  when  it  rained 
cataracts,  and  he  was  but  badly  recovered  from 
an  ague  by  one  of  his  mother's  charms.  Now 
since  Maurice  came  to  the  Island,  he  could 
never  pass  him  but  he  had  a  stone  in  his  sleeve 
to  fling  at  him,  some  jesting  taunt,  that  had  less 
wit,  and  more  bitterness,  than  was  his  custom ; 
particularly  against  his  English  novelties,  which 
gave  him  most  offence,  and,  in  allusion  to  his 
short  handled  implements,  succeeded  in  fasten- 
ing on  him  the  nickname  of  the  king  of  spades. 
But  Maurice,  having  little  conceit,  took  little 
offence,  and  parried  all  with  a  kind  gravity  ; 
and  though  he  never  esteemed  his  cousin,  (now 
Una  was  out  of  the  way)  he  did  not  shun  his 
society,  but  took  every  opportunity  of  trying  to 
l»enefit  him,  It  was  attempting  this,  that  in  the 
end  made  Merritt  his  resolved  enemy.  For 
about  this  time,  Merritt  married  miserably  ;  and 
Maurice  did  his  best  to  dissuade  him,  which  the 
wife  never  could  forgive  ;  and  though  she  was  a 
slob  of  a  girl,  she  had  cunning  enough  to  turn 
her  husband's  bad  passions  to  her  own  gratifica- 
tion. 

Some  dozen  of  Merritt's  companions,  whom 
the  sheer  love  of  confederation  led  into  every 
kind  of  turbulence  and  wickedness,  having  no 
treason  on  the  anvil,  gave  out  that  a  big  two- 
handed  wench,  with  a  blowzy  face,  who  had 
5 


50 

got  the  name  of  a  fine  girl  from  tramping  jigs  at 
night  dances,  was  to  be  hurled  for.  Her  name 
was  Katty  Conghar :  on  the  appointed  morning, 
the  riot  and  rout  surrounded  her  father's  house  ; 
and  though  he  and  her  mother  made  some  show 
of  resistance,  the  girl  was  little  loth,  as  her  red 
ribbons  proclaimed  ;  and  being  hoisted  on  men's 
shoulders,  was  carried  to  the  field,  to  be  the  prize 
of  the  victor.  Then  the  dashers,  and  the  slashers, 
and  the  wits,  and  the  devil-may-care  boys,  were 
all  in  their  shirt  sleeves  tied  with  ribbands,  and  the 
hurling  began :  and  in  truth,  the  games  in  Ho- 
mer and  Virgil  are  not  to  be  compared  to  it,  if 
it  could  be  turned  to  any  laudable  account' 
Merritt  M'Cormick  was  dominant  throughout, 
and  being  an  active,  clean  limbed  lad,  after  a 
hard  contest  of  three  hours,  he  put  the  ball 
through  the  sticks,  and  goaled  the  girl.  Then 
all  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  inflamed  with  suc- 
cess, he  kisses  the  girl,  though  he  did  not  care  a 
rush  for  her,  and  off  they  are  borne  to  be  mar- 
ried, amidst  shouts  and  huzzas.  But  a  busy 
body  having  run  off  to  tell  Mrs.  M'Cormick, 
the  mother,  soon  you  might  hear  her  shrieking 
and  cursing  the  stars,  and  luck,  good,  bad,  and 
indifferent ;  for  she  had  laid  out  the  best  match 
in  the  Island  for  her  son,  and  having  her  share 
of  mother's  wit,  was  nigh  to  bring  it  to  bear  : 
and  this  Katty  Conghar  was  of  a  redshank  breed, 
pennyless  to  boot;  and  Mrs.  M'Cormick  was 
indeed  of  the  Milesian  race,  though  with  a  few 
blots  in  it.  She  tore  off  her  cap, — she  tore  her 
hair, — she  tore  her  cheeks,  and  ran  out  in  her 
stocking  feet ;  and  was  lunatic  in  a  trice.  But 
she  had  still  sense  enough,  and  humbled  she 
was,  or  she  would  not  have  done  it,  to  call 


to  advise  with  Maurice.  He  borrowed  a  cap 
and  pair  of  shoes  of  the  maid  for  her,  and  put- 
ting her  behind  him  on  a  horse,  rode  off  for  the 
bride's  father's  house,  where  I  soon  received  a 
summons  to  marry  them.  I  delayed  as  long  as 
I  decently  could  do,  but  it  was  in  vain.  The 
company  raised  such  a  shout  as  soon  as  Mrs. 
i\rCormick  appeared,  that  she  could  not  even 
make  herself  heard  ;  arid  Merritt  had  grown 
so  fractious  from  long  indulgence,  that  he  little 
heeded  her  ;  and  those  who  knew  her  best, 
plied  her  so  with  drink,  that  finding  opposition 
vain,  she  soon  blubbered  out  a  consent,  and  sat 
down  to  table  with  them  all.  But  Maurice 
would  not  so  easily  be  put  off:  there  was  a 
decency  in  his  manners  and  looks,  that  when  he 
was  in  earnest  mastered  even  Merritt,  and  he 
prevailed  on  him  to  hear  him  apart. — He  had 
the  right  so  much  with  him,  that  several  time* 
Merritt  was  staggered,  but  at  last  he  declared, 
that  he  never  could  show  his  face  again,  if  he 
did  so  ungallant  a  thing ;  and  so  with  all  his  wit 
he  was  tied  to  a  slut,  a  slattern,  and  a  sot,  for 
such  she  proved. 

.  I  had  a  dear  friend,  the  friend  of  my  prime 
rime,  a.  real  prince,  Hi  Sullivan  Bere  :  he  was 
directly  descended  from  the  great  Hi  Sullivan 
Bere,  who  fell  with  the  fall  of  his  country.  His 
descendant  in  the  reign  of  Carolus  sectmdus 
recovered  a  good  share  of  the  property,  from 
the  negligence  of  the  undertakers,  who  resided 
abroad  in  England,  and  the  family  lived  in  great 
splendour  and  hospitality,  with  every  knee  bent 
to  them  in  the  castle,  on  the  rocks  of  Bere- 
haven,.  This.  Hi  Sullivan  Bere  was  mv  foster 


52. 

brother ;  and  this  tie,  esteemed  so  binding  m 
Ireland,  neither  age,  nor  absence,  would  entirely 
break,  but  regularly  every  new  year's  day,  we 
exchanged  letter  of  inquiry  and  kind  wishes.  In 
all  his  letters  he  spoke  to  me  of  his  son,  and  I 
in  return  boasted  of  mine,  for  so  now  I  called 
and  felt  that  Maurice  was.  It  was  sufficient  for 
him  to  know,  that  Maurice  was  the  head  of  the 
house  of  O'Neal,  to  respect  and  wish  to  see 
him  ;  his  being  a  day  labourer  only  appeared  an 
accident  in  the  eyes  of  one  always  talking  with 
old  times,  he  did  not  the  less  esteem  him  a  high 
born  Milesian  prince.  I  determined  to  send 
Maurice  there,  because  I  knew  he  was  secure 
of  the  respect  of  the  old  chieftain,  and  I  thought 
he  could  not  fail  of  the  friendship  of  the  young 
one  5  and  so  in  the  event  it  was. 

One  of  my  smuggling  captains,  the  better  to 
quiet  his  conscience,  presented  me  with  a 
superb  horse  he  had  brought  from  Spain ; 
Maurice  had  broken  him  in,  and  taught  him  to 
follow  him,  to  kneel  down,  and  to  capriole.  In 
the  month  of  May,  after  Maurice  had  sown 
his  land,  for  he  had  now  taken  it  into  his  own 
hands,  and  he  could  best  be  spared,  I  desired 
the  neighbours  to  keep  his  house  and  land  safe 
from  harm,  and  giving  him  the  colt,  sent  him 
with  a  letter  to  the  castle  of  Berehaven. 

The  night  before  he  departed,  Maurice  con- 
fided to  me  ^ that  he  loved. 

"  And  whom  ?"  said  I. 

"  Berghetta  Tual,"  said  he* 


"  God  be  thanked,  you  have  chosen  wellj 
but  she  is  quite  a  child." 

"  She  will  not  be,  by  the  time  we  marry," 
said  Maurice,  smiling,  "for  I  mean,  that  she 
should  have  as  good  a  house  over  her  head,  and 
as  well  furnished  too,  as  my  friend  Mrs.  Maple- 
ton,  before  I  ask  your  blessing  father.  I  am 
afraid,"  said  he,  "  it  may  be  more  months  than 
a  year;  it  is  a  long  time,  but  I  will  work  hard,* 
or  it  may  be  longer — but  into  a  mud  cabin,  I 
will  never  ask  a  wife  to  enter;  nor  will  I  ever 
rear  up  children  in  rags.?5 

"  But  how  came  you  acquainted  ?"  said  Ir 
:i  for  she  never  sees  any  one  in  her  mother's 
house,  nor  ever  leaves  it  but  to  go  to  chapel,, 
and  then  she  draws  her  cloak  over  her  face, 
and  speaks  to  no  man." 

"  Ah,  father,  when  I  first  saw  that  pale  and 
heavenly  face,  which  was  never  uncovered  but 
at  her  devotions,  so  gentle,  so  sweet,  so  pure  ! 
many  ways  I  tried  to  accost  her,  but  she  heeded 
me  not,  but  chance  favoured  me  ;  as  she  was 
passing  by  a  house,  some  dogs  run  out  and 
barked  at  her;  and  she  has  such  an  extreme 
terror  of  these  cabin  curs,  that  she  screamed 
and  began  to  run.  I  was  never  far  from  her  on 
her  return  from  chapel,  and  flew  to  her  assist- 
ance. I  dealt  one  of  the  do^s  *a  blow  with  my 
stick,  with  such  good  will,  that  I  lajd  him  dead. 
— I  then  overtook  Berghetta,  who  was  so  terri- 
fied, that  she  could  scarcely  stand,  and  was 
obliged  to  lean  on  my  arm,  and  let  me  accom- 
pany her  home.  Yet  in  all  other  respects,  she 
5  * 


54 

is  a  hale,  active  girl ;  and  who  milks  a  cow,  or 
tends  her  dairy  better  ?  If  you  were  to  see  her 
strength,  when  she  raises  her  poor  crippled 
mother,  and  carries  her  across  the  room  like  a 
child,  you  would  wonder  that  she  should  run 
away  from  a  little  dog.  Her  mother  smiled  on 
me  when  I  brought  her  home,  and  I  saw  that 
my  fortune  was  made,  and  yet  I  ought  not  to 
say  so,  for  to  this  moment  I  cannot  say,  and 
scarcely  believe,  that  Berghetta  loves  me." 

"  So  much  the  better,  so  much  the  better," 
replied  I ;  "  a  girl  that  is  in  love  loses  a  good 
deal  of  the  tenderness  and  all  the  usefulness  of 
her  sex.  She  begins  not  to  care  about  her  bird, 
or  her  pet  lamb,  or  her  old  mother,  the  cakes 
may  burn  on  the  griddle,  and  she  does  not  no- 
tice them,  a  cobweb  may  hang  from  the  ceiling 
to  the  floor,  and  she  does  not  perceive  it. — She 
has  only  two  ideas  in  her  head,  herself  and  him, 
and  these  are  not  much  to  the  purpose.  No, 
no,  these  tindery  young  ladies  always  abound 
in  sparks.  I'll  engage  Berghetta  never  speaks 
to  any  young  fellow  but  yourself," 

"  Just  so,"  said  Maurice. 

a  Be  content  then ;  she  will  love  you  when 
it  is  her  duty  to  do  so,  respect  her  piety  and 
wisdom,  which  prevent  her  from  overstepping 
the  bounds  that  delicacy  prescribes  to  her  sex." 

And  well  I  might  tell  him  to  be  content,  for 
every  thought  of  that  innocent  mind  had  been 
laid  open  to  me  with  a  scrupulous  and  self- 
accusing  candour  without  parallel.  It  is  a  deli- 


cate  thing  to  speajc  of  confessions,  even  of  those 
who  are  dead  ;  yet  this  much  I  will  say,  that 
my  experience  has  shown  me,  that  self-sufficient 
people,  and  those  bold  spirits,  who  say  it  would 
be  hypocrisy  to  accuse  themselves  of  sin,  when 
they  are  conscious  of  none,  are  always  without 
capacity  for  virtuous  feeling,  and  gross  in  the 
grain  of  their  hearts  ;  it  is  not  that  their  lives 
are  pure,  but  that  their  perceptions  are  coarse, 
and  their  consciences  seared.  But  the  inno- 
cent, they  whose  consciences  are  fresh  and  ten- 
der, will  feel  sullied,  even  by  the  susceptibility 
of  temptation  ;  and  who  has  not  been  tempted. 

I  wrote  by  a  poor  scholar  that  was  returning 
to  Kerry,  to  prepare  Hi  Sullivan  Bere  for  my 
son's  coming.  And  now  he  shall  speak  again 
for  himself. 

"  My  head  is  turned,  dear  father,  but  not  by 
the  magnificence  of  this  place,  though  that  is 
sufficiently  amazing.  The  castle  itself,  with 
its  woods  and  mountains,  and  the  great  sea 
breaking  on  its  rocks,  is  awful  indeed.  As 
soon  as  I  appeared  in  sight  a  horn  sounded  from 
the  castle ;  would  you  credit  it,  that  the  great 
Hi  Sullivan  Bere  should  receive  a  day-labourer 
thus  ?  I  was  led  through  a  double  row  of  fol- 
lowers, that  extended  from  the  entrance  to  the 
hall,  where  Hi  Sullivan  Bere  himself  was,  who,  as 
soon  as  he  law  me,  rose  and  embraced  me,  and 
kissed  my  forehead.  It  was  no  wonder  that  I 
stood  abashed  before  him.  The  grandeur  of 
the  hall,  the  crowd  that  gazed  on  me,  the  mag- 
nificence of  his  dress,  which  seemed  covered 
with  jewels,  but  still  more  his  gigantic  figure 


and  commanding  air,  confused  me  ;  nor  did  the 
great  attenti 
restore  me. 


great  attention  with  which  he  treated  me  much 


"O'Neal,"  said  he,  "I  should  call  you  prince,, 
king,  but  that  no  title,  not  even  that  of  an  em- 
peror, can  add  honour  to  the  name  of  O'Neal. 
You  are  the  O'Neal,  the  last  honoured  repre- 
sentative of  a  race  of  kings  and  warriors,  whose 
origin  is  lost  only  in  the  clouds  of  time.  On 
this  spot  your  forefathers  and  my  forefathers 
fought  together,  and  the  marble  pavement  of 
the  chapel  is  still  discoloured  with  the  blood  of. 
the  O'Neals  and  Sullivans." 

He  showed  me  all  the  state  rooms  of  the  cas- 
tle, which  were  hung  with  the  finest  tapestry 
.  and  velvet,  though  rather  decayed  ;  paintings 
of  his  ancestors,  and  curious  suits  of  burnished 
armour.  He  gave  me  the  history  of  each  hero 
to  whom  they  belonged,  to  which  I  listened  with 
a  pleasure  I  had  never  known  before. 

At  dinner  (he  dined  early)  there  were  gen- 
tlemen, his  near  relations,  and  some  neighbour- 
ing gentlemen,  every  one  of  whom  dined  stand- 
ing in  his  presence,  and  I  alone  was  seated  at 
his  table  *  After  dinner  the  harper  entered,  and 
played  and  sung  a  song  to  the  glory  of  the  O'- 
Neals, and  to  their  misfortunes.  I  could  not 
but  blush  at  the  beginning,  but  the  conclusion 
was  so  pathetic,  and  the  music  so  moving,  that, 
struggle  as  I  would,  I  could  not  prevent  the 
tears  rolling  from  my  eyes. 

Yet  all  this  distinction  did  not  for  a  moment 
make  me  forget  myself,  I  knew  my  real  station 


57 

too  well ;  but  that  is  not  the  case  now,  nor  will 
you  be  surprised  when  1  tell  you  the  pains,  that 
the  young  Tanist,  James  Hi  Sullivan  Bere,  has 
taken  to  turn  my  head.  I  was  soon  beginning 
to  tire  of  the  castle,  for  I  was  no  company  for 
the  prince,  who,  though  the  best  natured  and 
most  eloquent  man  alive,  took  no  pleasure  in 
books,  or  in  improvements,  or  in  any  thing  else 
that  I  could  perceive,  except  stalking.  He  loves 
nothing  but  antique  Irish  customs,  which  seem 
to  me  to  be  the  brood  of  folly  and  idleness,  and 
he  is  rather  too,  partial  to  tobacco  and  whiskey  : 
but  among  his  followers  it  was  worse  ;  they  did 
nothing  but  lean  along  the  walls  on  a  wet  day, 
or  bask  in  the  sun  on  a  dry  day,  and  when  they 
gathered  at  meals,  or  at  night,  their  conversa- 
tion, though  always  witty,  was  seldom  better 
than  gross. — Then  outside  the  castle  the  whole 
country  was  sad.  All  the  clan  despised  industry ; 
there  were  no  fences  or  corn  fields,  but  the 
whole  country  overrun  with  goats,  old  horses, 
starved  milch-cows,  and  mangy  sheep.  Here 
too  one  could  never  be  alone,  for  all  the  herds 
clustered  round  you,  from  miles  around,  to  see 
who  you  were,  and  ask  the  news.  I  had  no 
refuge  but  the  sea  shore,  where  an  O'Sullivan 
was  never  found,  for  they  looked  on  the  sea  as 
an  element  fit  only  for  Englishmen  and  smug- 
glers, and  they  even  disdained  to  catch  the  fine 
fish  that  frequented  their  coast.  I  was  walking 
on  the  fourth  evening,  and  wondering  that  they 
did  not  gather  the  sea  weed  for  manure,  when 
I  saw  the  bare-footed  boy  from  the  castle  run- 
ning past. 

"  And  where  are  you  and  the  wind  going, 
Rorv  ?" 


68 

i4  To  take  the  skiff  and  fetch  the  young  Ta~ 
iiist  from  on  board,  don't  you  see  the  yellow 
flag  on  that  ship's  head.  That's  he  just  return- 
ed from  France,  after  leaving  the  old  gentle- 
man, his  tutor,  safe  at  home." 

"  Then  you  had  better  take  me  with  you, 
Rory,  for  I  know  my  way  over  the  waves  bet- 
ter than  you." 

"  Like  enough,"  replied  the  lad,  "  for  they 
only  send  me  for  want.pf  a  better,  and  you  will 
not  be  too  many,  since  the  Tanist,  God  bles& 
him,  disdains  to  touch  a  rope,  even  if  he  knew 
how." 

I  helped  the  boy  to  set  the  sail,  and  left  him 
to  steer,  which  he  did  pretty  well  till  we  came 
near  the  ship,  when,  if  I  had  not  taken  the 
helm  from  him,  he  might  have  staved  the  boat 
against  the  ship's  side.  The  young  Prince  stood 
at  the  ship's  side,  watching  our  coming,  he  was 
easily  known  from  the  rest,  who  were  only 
common  sea-faring  people.  He  wore  a  large 
cocked  hat,  and  was  wrapped  in  a  capota.  His 
face  was  very  like  to  some  of  your  Spanish 
pictures,  of  a  dark  olive  colour ;  he  had  black 
eyes  and  hair,  and  a  look  of  gravity,  if  not 
of  pride. 

I  went  to  the  head  of  the  boat  and  sat  behind 
the  sail.  He  nodded  to  Rory  as  he  sat  down 
in  the  boat,  then  throwing  the  corner  of  his  ca- 
pota over  his  shoulder,  he  seemed  lost  in 
thought,  and  Rory  being  too  much  under  awe 
to  speak,  we  sailed  silently  back.  The  wind 


69 

\\;>>  against  us.  Rory,  in  attempting  to  tack, 
showed  that  he  was  no  sailor,  and  cat  across  the 
bay  in  all  manner  of  directions,  so  that  it  began 
to  grow  dark  hefore  we  neared  the  coast. 
However,  it  seemed  indifferent  to  Hi  Sullivan, 
and  Rory  did  not  ask,  and  I  did  not  offer,  my 
help. 

It  would  have  been  wiser  if  I  had,  for  though 
I  saw  the  waves  breaking  as  if  over  a  rock 
ahead,  and  Rory  steering  in  the  direction,  yet  I 
could  not  think  that  he  and  the  young  Tanist 
could  be  so  ignorant  of  the  coast;  there  was 
not  much  time  for  reflection,  for  in  a  minute 
the  skiff  struck,  upset,  and  we  were  all  in  the 
water.  The  first  thing  I  did  was  to  strip  off  my 
coat,  waistcoat,  and  shirt,  and  then  look  for  the 
boy,  who  fortunately  rose  near  me,  and  I  caught 
him  by  the  hair.  As  soon  as  he  had  got  the 
water  out  of  his  mouth,  he  began  to  cry  out, 
"  let  me  alone,  can't  you,  let  me  go  the  bot- 
tom ;  why  don't  you  help  the  Tanist  ?  or  he 
will  be  drowned,  and  ruin  come  over  us." 

"  Why  surely  he  can  swim,"  I  replied. 

Swim  !  not  he,  nor  never  a  soul  in  the  cas- 
tle, Oh !  he  will  be  certainly  drowned,  can't  you 
let  me  go,  and  do  what  I  tell  you  ;"  and  he  ac- 
tually struggled  to  get  loose.  The  Tanist,  how- 
ever, whose  large  cloak  kept  him  afloat,  had 
caught  hold  of  the  boat,  which  lay  on  her  side, 
with  the  mast  and  sail  in  the  water ;  and  as  he 
was  in  no  immediate  danger,  I  told  the  boy  so9 
who  being  able  to  swim  a  little,  I  brought  him 
to  shore  without  much  difficulty.  I  desired  him 


60 

to  run  to  the  castle  for  help,  and  then  swam 
back  to  the  wreck  ;  but  though  I  am  reckoned 
a  good  swimmer  even  at  Kahery,  yet  swimming 
as  I  now  did,  against  the  tide,  tired  me  so  much, 
that  I  thought  it  better  to  hold  to  the  hoat  and 
wait  for  assistance,  than  attempt  to  bring  O'Sul- 
livan  to  shore. 

He  seemed  surprised  at  my  returning  to  him  : 
and  yet  his  first  exclamation  on  hearing  my  ac- 
cent was,  "  How  shall  1  ever  bear  to  be  so  deep- 
ly indebted  to  an  Englishman  !"  Surely,  dear 
sir,  and  father,  this  animosity  is  carried  to  an 
unchristian  excess,  both  in  the  prince  and  his 
son,  for  the  prince  could  never  bear  to  hear  me 
speak  favourably  of  any  thing  in  England,  or  even 
to  mention  the  country.  However,  I  assured 
him  I  was  no  Englishman,  but  had  been  in 
England,  and  had  always  wished  for  an  Eng- 
lish accent. 

"  I  cannot  blame  you  for  that,"  said  he, 
(speaking  as  unconcernedly  as  if  he  had  been 
sitting  in  the  castle,)  "  for  the  Irish  accent  is 
detestable ;  but  it  is  a  pity  you  have  not  learnt 
the  foreign  or  French  accent,  (he  himself  spoke 
with  it,)  instead  of  the  English.  However,  you 
have  not  a  strong  English  accent.  But  will  you 
not  come  more  on  the  boat,  and  rest  yourself, 
for  I  cannot  swim,  so  you  can  be  of  no  use  to 
me,  and  then  you  may  return  to  shore." 


I  told  him  I  had  no  thoughts  of  leaving  him, 
as  my  skill  in  swimming  might  be  of  use  in 
keeping  the  boat  steady,  though  I  feared  I  was 
not  strong  enough  to  take  him  on  shore. 


01 

"Good  Heaven  !"  he  cried  suddenly,  -what 
can  equal  my  stupidity !  you  must  be  Maurice 
O'Neal,  my  father,  before  I  went,  talked  of 
vour  coming.  Thus  it  has  always  been— the 
O'Neals  and  O'Sullivans  never  meet  but  to  die 
together ;  for  I  now  know  it  will  be  in  vain  to 
desire  you  to  return  on  shore," 

"  But  why  talk  of  dying  ?"  I  replied,  "  the 
boy  will  soon  alarm  the  people  of  the  castle. 
The  wind  is  not  very  high,  and  though  that 
drives  us  from  the  shore,  the  tide  is  in  our 
favour." 

"  Oh,  I  know  those  people  of  the  castle  right 
well ;  my  poor  father  will  lose  his  head ;  the 
rest  will  all  take  to  shrieking,  the  first  thing  they 
will  think  of  will  be  preparing  for  our  wake,  and 
the  last  thing  they  will  recollect,  is  that  the 
smuggler's  boat  lies  at  Chink  Well." 

"  But  I  bid  Rory  remember  the  boat,  for  I 
passed  it  to  day." 

"  Well,  there  is  life  in  that,  and  Rory  must  be 
no  better  than  a  firbolg,  if  he  lacks  wit  in  com- 
ing to  your  help." 

"  But  may  I  ask  how  he  came  to  have  so 
little  wit  as  to  run  the  skiff  against  the  rock  ?" 

"  It  was  no  rock  ;" 

1  It  was  that  fatal  and  perfidious  bark, 
*  Built  in  the  eclipse,  and  rigg'd  with  curses  dark.* 
6 


62 

"  It  is  an  English  frigate,  that  was  wrecked 
there  three  years  ago,  and  every  thing  English 
is  fatal  to  our  race." 

As  he  spoke,  a  breaker  made  the  boat  roll, 
and  he  lost  his  hold  and  sunk  ;  but  I  caught  him 
as  he  rose,  and  was  able  to  regain  the  boat ; 
and  having  found  a  rope,  I  fastened  it  round  his 
body,  so  that  he  could  not  again  be  separated 
from  the  boat. 

"  You  are  too  good,"  he  said  to  me,  "  but  in- 
deed you  had  better  return  on  shore,  and  leave 
me  to  my  fate,  I  know  that  English  vessel  must 
be  my  destruction." 

The  night  was  now  getting  dark,  and  the  sea 
more  rough,  and  I  began  to  despair  of  help  from 
the  castle.  I  had  rested,  leaning  on  the  boat, 
and  my  confidence  in  my  swimming  began  to 
return.  I  told  O'Sullivan  that  if  he  had  pres- 
ence of  mind  enough  to  hold  my  body  with  one 
arm,  leaving  my  arms  quite  free,  I  had  no  doubt 
that  I  could  take  him  on  shore  safe.  But  he 
replied,  that  though  he  was  not  afraid  of  death, 
he  was  of  the  water,  and  could  not  bring  him- 
self to  quit  the  boat.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to 
have  so  little  fear,  that  he  began  to  talk  about 
the  most  indifferent  matters  in  the  world  ;  but 
I  begged  him  to  stop,  for  as  I  knew  the  tide, 
our  best  hope,  was  changing,  our  danger  became 
evident,  and  it  seemed  time  to  say  my  last 
prayer  for  you  and  Berghetta,  and  to  recom- 
mend my  soul  to  its  Maker;  this  I  did  aloud* 
When  I  stopped,  O'Sullivan  again  urged  me  to 
swim  to  shore  ;  but  this  I  could  not  do,  after  I 


63 

had  seen  how  necessary  I  was  to  him  ;  and 
even  if  it  was  not  my  duty,  it  would  have  been 
better  to  die,  than  live  with  the  reproach  of  hav- 
ing deserted  him  always  in  my  breast.  But  I 
begged  him  in  return  not  to  speak,  for  I  wished 
to  think  no  more  even  of  you  or  Berghetta,  but 
to  give  my  thoughts  entirely  to  resignation  to 
God's  will.  And  yet  why  do  I  tell  you  all  this, 
but  that  it  may  reach  Berghetta's  ears,  for  I 
know  she  will  tremble  for  me,  and  that  is  next 
to  loving  me. 

We  were  saved,  as  you  may  guess,  by  Rory's 
diligence  ;  lights  along  the  shore  revived  our 
hopes,  and  the  prince,  taking  a  small  horn  from 
his  breast,  sounded  it  that  they  might  know  the 
direction  in  which  we  floated.  We  soon  heard 
the  oars  of  the  boat,  and  Rory,  in  his  exulta- 
tion at  having  saved  us,  forgot  that  we  owed  our 
wetting  to  his  blunder,  for  he  knew  very  well 
the  wreck  was  there,  but  was  thinking  of  some- 
thing else.  But  he  was  soon  downcast  enough, 
for  when  James  Hi  Sullivan  found  that  he  had 
forgotten  to  bring  clothes  for  me,  he  poured  a 
tempest  of  wrath  on  his  head,  and  as  the  bit- 
terest thing  he  could  say,  told  him  that  he  had 
an  English  heart  to  forget  the  man  that  carried 
him  safe  through  the  waves  ;  and  from  that 
moment  to  this,  his  whole  thought  seems  to  be 
how  he  can  show  me  every  possible  kindness. 
As  my  own  clothes  were  gone,  he  makes  me 
wear  the  very  best  of  his  ;  he  takes  me  from 
his  father's  table  to  his,  and  we  stand  together 
at  meals,  and  you  may  conceive  that  I  willingly 
forego  the  greater  honour  of  sitting  with  the  Hi 
Sullivan. 


64 

Here  his  letter  ended,  which  was  brought 
to  me,  with  a  note  from  Hi  Sullivan  Bere,  say- 
ing that  Maurice  had  been  taken  ill  of  a  pleu- 
risy, and  though  then  out  of  danger,  was  too 
weak  to  return  home  for  another  fortnight.  He 
caught  cold  the  night  of  his  mischance,  return- 
ing to  the  castle,  having  nothing  to  cover  him- 
self with  but  James  O'Sullivan's  wet  capota. 

But  he  was  well  tended  ;  for  though  the  old 
chieftain  had  taken  offence  from  his  happily  let- 
ting fall  that  the  best  young  man  he  ever  knew 
(meaning  John  Mapleton)  was  an  Englishman; 
yet  he  was  too  noble-minded  himself  not  to  glo- 
rify Maurice  for  his  conduct  towards  his  son ; 
and  that  son,  having  a  fiery  poetical  mind,  had 
a  capacity  to  apprehend  Maurice's  worth,  though 
of  a  more  demure  and  homely  texture  than  his 
own,  and  to  prize  him  for  his  own  sake.  Mau- 
rice had  the  most  grateful  of  hearts,  and  return- 
ed the  old  chieftain's  kindness  with  the  duty  of 
a  son,  while  for  the  young  man  he  conceived 
a  friendship,  which  made  him  blind  to  all  his 
faults,  and  ended  only  with  his  life. 

However,  no  pageantry  could  turn  his  heart 
from  its  duties  and  honest  affections  ;  and  as 
soon  as  his  strength  returned,  he  did  not  lose  a 
day  in  preparing  to  return  to  that  industry,  by 
which  he  hoped  to  obtain  Berghetta  Tual  for 
his  wife. 

Before  he  came  away,  by  my  previous  desire, 
he  presented  the  Spanish  colt  to  James  Hi  Sul- 
livan. Riding,  as  it  was  an  ancient  Irish,  was 
esteemed  a  prime  accomplishment  at  the  castle 


65 

of  Berehaven.  But  as  the  O'Sullivans  cared 
little  to  comb  their  own  glibs,  and  had  a  mighty 
aversion  to  bend  either  their  backs  or  their 
arms,  they  made  sorry  grooms  ;  even  the  jade 
that  James  O'Sullivan  rode,  owed  his  eminence 
to  the  superbness  of  his  garniture  ;  and  then 
their  only  idea  of  fine  riding  was  like  the  wild 
Arabs,  to  put  the  horse  into  full  gallop,  and  then 
by  a  sudden  check  throw  him  on  his  haunches, 
at  the  great  risk  of  both  tumbling  in  the  dirt. 
Now  Maurice  fed  and  dressed  the  Spanish  colt 
himself,  so  that  his  coat  was  as  sleek  and  shin- 
ning as  a  lady's  mantle.  He  had  excited  the 
wonder,  if  not  the  contempt,  of  the  stable  gos- 
soons at  the  castle,  by  rising  at  four  o'clock  for 
that  purpose ;  however,  when  he  found  him- 
self ill,  he  begged  Rory  not  to  neglect  the 
horse ;  and  Rory  discharged  the  trust  loyally. 

The  day  before  he  departed,  he  presented 
the  horse  to  James  Hi  Sullivan,  and  asked  the 
prince  to  descend  into  the  court,  to  see  it  per- 
form its  exercise.  Immediately  all  the  castle 
swarmed  to  the  spot,  and  Maurice,  who  had 
perfected  himself  in  the  art  from  an  old  French 
book  on  the  manege  that  I  had  lent  him,  made 
the  colt  perform  terre  a  terre,  passades,  ballo- 
tades,  croupades,  courbettes,  caprioles  sur  les 
voltes,  to  the  astonishment  and  delight  of  the 
assembly,  whose  admiration  was  equally  divid- 
ed between  the  rider  and  the  horse.  He  then 
alighted,  and  held  the  stirrup  for  the  young  Ta- 
nist  to  mount,  who  was  charmed  when  he  found 
how  simple  and  easy  this  graceful  exercise 
was. 


66 

James  Hi  Sullivan,  who  scattered  his  money 
like  sunbeams  in  handfuls,  pressed  upon  Maurice 
in  return,  that  he  should  accept  from  him  a  sum 
sufficient  to  make.him  comfortable  for  life  :  but 
Maurice,  who  had  acquired  in  England  a  great 
respect  for  industry,  replied,  that  nothing  would 
make  him  give  up  the  pleasure  of  labouring  for 
Berghetta's  comfort,  and  the  accomplishment  of 
their  marriage  ;  though  this  once  having  taken 
place,  he  would  gladly  accept  an  offer  by  which 
he  was  so  much  honoured ;  but  he  asked  Hi 
Sullivan  for  a  book  of  poems  he  had  read  to 
him  while  he  lay  ill,  and  he  took  from  the  chief- 
tain a  big  boney  horse,  which,  when  put  into 
condition,  would  be  adapted  to  agricultural  pur- 
suits. He  also  asked  and  obtained  the  place  of 
keeper  of  the  lodge  gate,  which  happened  to  be 
vacant,  for  Merritt  M'Cormick,  who  confessed 
to  him  before  he  came  away,  that  he  owed  money 
at  every  public  house  within  twenty  miles ;  that 
he  had  spent  all  that  could  be  got  from  his 
mother ;  and  that  he  was  so  fretted  by  his  wife 
and  her  followers,  that  he  had  not  heart  to  earn 
a  penny  even  if  he  had  inclination,  arid  that  he 
saw  nothing  for  it  but  to  enlist. 

But  imagine  Maurice's  joy  and  surprise,  when 
he  found  that  it  was  settled  that  James  Hi  Sul- 
livan should  come  and  pay  father  O'Brien  a 
visit.  The  visit  was  placed  to  my  account,  but 
happily  would  never  have  been  thought  of,  but 
for  the  great  liking  that  James  Hi  Sullivan  had 
taken  for  Maurice  ;  neither  was  this  friendship 
surprising,  for  Maurice  was  far  more  lettered 
and  refined  than  any  one  that  was  likely  to  be 
met  at  the  castle  of  Berehaven ;  and  indepen- 


67 

dent  of  his  excellent  nature,  he  had  the  man- 
ners, voice,  and  personality  of  a  gentleman,  nay, 
placed  side  by  side  with  James  O'Sullivan  him- 
self, he  had  an  air  of  more  assured  nobleness. 
The  other  was  tinctured  with  pride,  and  some- 
thing of  an  appetite  for  praise  ;  which  Maurice 
knew  not. 

However,  my  delight  at  receiving  the  son  of 
my  old  friend  gave  me  new  life ;  and  I  took 
care  that  every  deference  I  could  pay  should  be 
paid  to  his  rank.  Indeed,  one  could  not  behold 
him  without  a  kind  of  devotion,  when  one 
thought  of  the  long  regal  descent  of  his  great 
ancestors,  saw  him  beautiful  and  majestic  in 
person,  noble  and  large  in  all  his  thoughts  and 
actions,  just  what  one  would  imagine  a  poten- 
tate to  be.  And  as  he  was  still  immensely  rich, 
the  connexion  between  what  he  was,  and  what 
he  had  a  right  to  be,  was  more  striking  than  in 
the  instance  of  Maurice,  though  his  claim  to  all 
the  potentiality  of  the  dynasty  of  Hi  Nial  was 
equally  incontestable. 

And  here  was  the  great  contrast  between 
these  young  men :  for  while  James  Hi  Sullivan, 
with  great  reasons  for  being  contented,  nourish- 
ed the  keenest  regret  for  his  lost  family  honours, 
and  the  bitterest  rancour  against  his  spoliators, 
the  English,  no  thought  of  the  kind  seemed  ever 
to  occur  to  Maurice ;  he  was  the  only  Irish 
catholic  I  ever  knew,  who  was  perfectly  free 
from  that  festering  discontent,  which  seems  to 
me  the  greatest  evil  that  results  from  the  iniqui- 
tous laws,  that  separate  us  from  our  fellow-coun- 
trymen, and  worry  us  out  of  the  good  feelings 


68    . 

of  our  nature.  Whether  it  was  his  residence 
in  England,  the  effect  of  religion,  constant  in- 
dustry, or  the  natural  kindliness  of  his  disposi- 
tion, which  seemed  not  to  know  how  to  hate,  I 
cannot  say ;  but  great  as  the  ascendancy  was, 
which  James  Hi  Sullivan  gained  over  him,  he 
never  could  infuse  into  him  any  tincture  of  this 
fretfulness. 

T  could  make  a  pretty  scene  of  what  past  be- 
tween these  friends  and  lovers  (for  I  persuaded 
Berghetta's  mother  to  bring  her  to  my  house  ;) 
but  it  is  not  pleasant  to  dwell  on  pleasant  scenes, 
that  have  ended  in  sorrow.  So -I  hasten  on, 
only  stopping  here  and  there,  to  extract  what 
may  be  useful  for  example. 

When  !  asked  James  Hi  Sullivan  how  he 
liked  Berghetta  ? 


1  to1 


"  Like  her  !"  he  replied,  "  I  never  dreamt 
of  liking  her  ;  she  is  as  divine  and  as  awful  as 
Heaven,  and  I  wonder  where  Maurice  got  the 
presumption  to  love  her." 

I  should  have  had  a  good  opinion  of  his  judg- 
ment, but  that  he  liked  Merritt  M'Cormick,  and 
was  much  taken  with  his  drollery. 

When  Maurice  told  Merritt  of  the  place  he 
had  asked  for  him,  instead  of  thanking  him  he 
replied, 

"  What,  you  would  make  me  a  gate  keeper, 
that  I  might  open  to  your  honour,  I  suppose  ? 
by  saint  Peter,  and  his  holy  keys,  you  might 


69 

stand  long  enough  at  Heaven's  gate,  before  I 
would  be  your  porter.'5 

"  Then  this  is  all  the  thanks  I  get,"  said 
Maurice,  "  for  asking  a  favour  for  you,  that 
almost  choked  me  ?  But  I  will  not  bear  base 
usage;  this  is  the  last  time  I  will  meddle  with 
your  affairs." 

"  How  high  you  rear  your  feathers  !  come, 
come,  I  only  spoke  of!' hand,  without  deciding  at 
all.  The  prince,  as  "they  call  him,  is  an  elegant 
fellow,  and  it  would  crown  a  young  man  to  be 
under  him ;  besides,  one  of  the  women  can 
look  after  the  gate,  while  I  shake  hands  with 
the  sun-beams  on  the  mountains  ;  and  Rory  O 
says  there  is  grouse  and  plenty  thereon,  so  I  am 
content  to  keep  the  gate." 

"  And  will  Mrs.     M'Cormick  be  content  to 

go?" 

"  Meaning  my  bad  luck,  or  my  bad  doings  ?" 
"  Is  this  to  say,  your  mother  and  wife  ?" 

u  Why,  my  mother  I  could  not  help  having, 
but  marrying  that  damsel  with  the  yellow  clay 
sticking  to  the  soles  of  her  feet  was  a  sore  sin. 
And  you  are  going  to  get  that  nice,  clean  skin- 
ned girl,  Berritt  Tual,  sprung  too  from  the 
right  O'Tuals,  in  the  county  of  Wicklow,  by 
the  same  token  that  her  father  is  buried  in  the 
Re-feast*,  at  the  seven  churches.  Oh,  as  to 

*  King's  sepulchre. 


70 

the  women's  going,  be  at  ease,  one  might  as 
soon  expect  to  get  quit  of  one's  misfortunes  as 
of  them." 

James  Hi  Sullivan  staid  but  a  short  and, 
winged  fortnight  with  us,but  promised  to  return 
and  be  present  at  Maurice's  wedding,  for  Ber- 
ghetta  had  showed  so  much  emotion  at  the  re- 
cital of  Maurice's  danger,  that  I  thought  it  as 
well,  that  she  should  be  contracted  to  him  at 
once.  And  this  lessened  his  sorrow  at  parting 
with  James  Hi  Sullivan,  that  he  might  give 
himself  up  entirely  to  the  industry,  by  which  he 
hoped  to  place  Berghetta  in  comfort. 

Merritt  M'Cormick  departed  soon  after,  at 
which  I  rejoiced,  for  I  had  reason  to  know,  that 
he  bore  a  most  horrid  hatred  to  Maurice,  from 
nothing  else  but  envy,  but  which  I  was  afraid 
might  end  in  some  violence.  I  called  on  him 
to  give  him  some  useless  exhortation  before  he 
departed.  Never  did  I  see  such  a  compleat 
Irish  business  as  his  house,  outside  and  inside, 
or  such  dirt  and  misery,  though  he  himself  had 
the  pride  of  king  Cophetua,  and  appeared  to 
the  last  in  a  suit  of  superfine  on  high-days  and 
holy  days. 

There  was  no  fence  before  the  door,  wrhere 
the  constant  treading  of  the  pigs,  and  a  green 
spring  that  rose  thereabout,  had  worked  all  the 
soil  into  mire  :  to  remedy  this,  there  were  step- 
ping stories,  laid  at  uneven  distances,  to  pick 
your  way ;  but  the  day  1  arrived,  being  windy, 
Katty  had  taken  one  of  these  to  put  upon  the 
thatch  of  the  house,  which  had  begun  to  strip, 
and  having  to  wait  till  it  was  replaced,  I  had 


71 

leisure  to  view  the  premises.  There  was  no 
shelter  to  this  mud  domicile.  The  only  thing 
like  a  tree  was  a  thorn  bush  cut  flat  by  the 
wind,  on  which  Katty  hung  her  muslin  to  dry, 
and  this  accounted  for  the  many  rents  which 
generally  appeared  in  her  finery.  There  was 
a  fine  growth  of  oats  in  patches  on  the  roof  of 
the  house,  where  wangles  of  new  straw  had 
been  thrust  in  to  repair  old  breaches  in  the 
thatch  ;  but  this  not  having  been  done  in  time, 
the  mud  wall  had  taken  the  wet  and  burst  out : 
to  remedy  this,  a  great  buttress  of  mason  work 
had  been  built,  to  support  the  wall,  which  must 
have  cost  more  than  building  a  new  wall  would 
have  done  :  however,  it  served  to  lean  against. 
The  house  originally  boasted  of  two  windows, 
each  consisting  of  four  panes  of  glass  of  the 
kind  called  bull's-eyes  ;  one  eye  at  present  only 
was  left,  the  seven  other  vacancies  were  stop- 
ped with  two  old  crowns  of  hats,  the  remains  of 
a  scarlet  petticoat,  and  straw :  so  that  there  was 
little  light  but  what  came  through  the  door,  and 
this  had  to  contend  for  entrance  with  a  cloud 
of  smoke  which  issued  from  within.  The  dung- 
hill, or  rather  the  muckhole,  was  at  the  side  of 
the  door ;  and  Merritt  persisted  in  gathering  it 
there,  because  it  had  been  a  dunghill  site  since 
the  wars  of  Ireland  :  but  he  knew  it  would  be 
no  use  moving  it,  for  his  wife  would  not  pass 
beyond  the  threshold  of  the  door  to  empty  her 
slops,  or  dispose  of  the  litter  of  the  house.  In- 
side the  house  was  not  much  worse  than  its 
neighbours;  there  was  no  light,  but  plenty  of 
smoke.  The  clay  floor  trod  into  holes  covered 
every  thing  with  dust,  and  made  sweeping  vain  : 
which  saved  Katty  a  world  of  trouble  ;  as  the 


72 

rats,  which  had  made  a  burrow  in  the  thatch, 
continued  their  operations  unmolested  day  and 
night,  and  showered  down  dirt  and  straws  ;  and 
Katty's  heart  might  have  been  broke  contend- 
ing with  them. 

As  I  was  preparing  to  enter,  I  heard  Katty 
screeching,  "  Hutchaw !  oolaghan  !"  and  out 
rushed  a  sow  and  her  pigs  :  I  made  way  for 
them,  and  to  these  succeeded  a  flight  of  hens 
and  turkies,  a  flock  of  geese,  three  cur  dogs, 
and  a  lame  gander. 

"  Now  I  believe  I  may  come  in,  Mrs.  M'Cor- 
mick,"  said  I,  still  cautious. 

"  Yes,  and  welcome,  your  Reverence,"  says 
she,  "  its  a  sorry  cabin  to  ask  the  likes  of  you 
to  enter ;  and  better  would  my  luck  have  been, 
if  I  had  never  entered  it ;  but  young  girls  think 
it  is  only  to  marry,  and  their  fortune's  made : 
but  then  it  is  their  slavery  begins ;  nothing  but 
drudgery  and  trouble  with  a  drunken  husband 
and  cross  children  to  fret  one's  heart ;  but  run," 
said  she,  turning  to  a  slob  of  a  girl,  that  seemed 
to  have  stole  her  tatters  from  the  shoulders  of  a 
scarecrow,  "  run,  Judy,  and  fetch  the  child  that 
I  left  without  in  the  spout. — Ah,  this  is  a  sad 
ree-raw  house  we  keep,"  continued  she,  "  and 
no  refreshment  to  offer  your  Reverence,  but  a 
mug  of  cold  water,  for  Merritt  drinks  all  his 
liquor  from  home,  and  the  mother  is  on  a  visit 
before  we  take  our  departure." 

"  Any  how,"  said  I,  "  I  am  glad  to  see,  Mrs. 
M'Cormick,  that  you  do  not  give  in  to  that  un- 
feminine  practice  of  tasting  spirits." 


73 

k-  Truth,  and  I  often  sigh  for  it,"  said  *!u-. 
"  for  there  is  nothing  comforts  the  heart  like  it." 

I  shrugged  my  shoulders,  and  knowing  that 
she  was  already  past  cure,  1  asked  Tor  Merritt. 
She  whispered  me,  "  He  is  hiding  from  you  : 
he  came  back  from  Rosinallis  fair  this  morning, 
with  the  life  beat  out  of  him." 

"  Come  out,  Merritt,"  said  I,  "  you,  that  put 
a  bold  face  on  sins,  need  not  be  ashamed  of 

scars." 

He  came  out  with  a  bloody  handkerchief  tied 
round  his  head,  and  one  arm  in  a  sling.  For 
some  time  past  he  had  been  losing  all  appear- 
ance of  health  and  youth  ;  and  though  he  still 
attempted  to  brave  it  out,  his  spirits  were  quite 
gone,  and  he  was  fast  subsiding  into  the  natural 
decay  of  all  buckeens, — dirt,  stupidity,  and 
peevishness.  He  seemed  to  have  lost  all  fore- 
thought, and  to  care  for  no  comfort :  yet  his 
envy  at  Maurice  was  unabated  ;  and  he  rejoiced 
at  the  idea  of  quitting  the  island,  and  ceasing  to 
be  a  witness  of  his  prosperity.  I  endeavoured 
to  awaken  him  to  more  Christian  feelings,  but 
it  was  in  vain ;  for  he  did  not  perceive  any  de- 
ficiency in  himself,  and  because  he  was  rigorous 
in  the  observance  of  a  whole  legend  of  pagan 
superstitions,  his  conscience  was  quite  at  ease. 

Yet  be  allowed  Maurice  to  become  security 
for  the  debts  he  left  behind,  which  of  course 
Maurice  had  to  pay;  and  well  would  it  have 
been,  if  he  had  been  so  quit  of  him. 
7 


74 

Merritt,  however,  and  his,  left  the  Island,  and 
no  one  sorrowed  after  them. 

Maurice's  crops,  though  not  over  abundant, 
yielded  good  profit  this  year  from  being  well 
saved.  The  corn  had  been  sown  eariy,  and 
when  ripe  he  was  diligent  in  getting  it  harvest- 
ed and  lodged  safe  home.  But  the  country  at 
large  had  forgot  themselves,  as  usual  in  seed 
time ;  some  were  at  fairs,  where  they  had  little 
business  ;  some  at  wakes  and  funerals ;  some 
waiting  for  a  lucky  day  ;  some  had  not  bought 
seed-corn  in  time,  and  when  they  got  it,  the 
weather  became  too  wet ;  some  had  not  their 
land  ploughed  ;  and  some  had  to  look  for  a 
plough.  Yet  they  did  not  wonder  the  less,  that 
the  corn  was  so  late  in  ripening. 

But  Maurice  considered  his  great  advantage 
in  having  harvested  his  crops  so  early,  to  con- 
sist in  being  able  to  undertake  a  large  contract 
of  task  work  at  reaping.  It  was  to  his  day- 
labour  that  he  always  looked  for  his  certain 
profit.  This,  he  said,  while  God  gave  him 
health,  could  not  fail  him  ;  but  farming  might 
pick  a  pocket  as  well  as  fill  it.  "  Often,"  added 
he,  "  have  I  seen  a  little  farm,  of  a  few  acres, , 
serve  only  as  an  excuse  for  idleness  ;  where, 
while  the  owner  lost  the  profits  of  his  day's 
work,  he  did  not  make  as  much  by  his  land,  as 
he  would  have  done  if  he  had  set  it." 

In  troth,  it  was  a  multitude  of  work  that  he 
did  this  year,  for  every  Saturday  he  put  his 
earnings  into  Berghetta's  hands  ;  while  she  still, 
with  a  gentle  apprehensive  look,  would  say, — 
a  Lfear,  Maurice,  that  you  work  too  hard." 


75 

They  blessed  my  threshold  again  at  Christ- 
mas, and  James  Hi  Sullivan  elevated  us  with 
the  hopes  of  his  coming,  hut  at  the  time  he  was 
detained  by  a  claim  set  up  by  the  heir  of  the 
original  undertaker  to  the  whole  of  his  father's 
estate.  He  treated  the  matter  proudly  and 
lightly  in  his  letter,  but  from  the  moment  I 
heard  of  it,  my  heart  died  away,  for  I  knew  my 
old  friend  could  not  bear  up  under  the  crush  of 
fortune. 

Maurice  fain  would  have  gone  to  visit  his 
dear  friend,  when  fortune  bent  her  brows,  but 
I  was  taken  ill,  so  very  ill,  that  the  attendance 
of  these  beloved  children  became  indispensable 
to  me.  Month  after  month  found  me  in  the 
same  state :  the  winter  passed,  and  the  spring 
was  nearly  fled,  before  I  was  able  to  enjoy  the 
sweetness  of  the  outer  air.  During  all  this  time 
Berghetta  was  a  slave  to  her  mother  and  my- 
self. As  I  knew  that  her  mother  lived  but  in 
her  presence,  I  exhorted  her  to  attend  to  me 
less ;  but  she  imagined  somewhat  of  a  religious 
duty  in  tending  a  servant  of  the  Church,  and 
this  was  always  sufficient  to  outweigh  her  incli- 
nations, however  praiseworthy  and  strong. 

Maurice  could  only  be  with  us  for  any  time 
together  occasionally ;  but  every  Saturday  night 
he  crossed  the  sea  from  Bengore  to  Rahery  in 
his  boat.  Heaven  favoured  him,  for  he  never 
was  in  any  real  danger  5  but  Berghetta  would 
start  and  turn  pale,  when  she  heard  the  door  of 
the  hall  clap  to.  Yet  though  one  could  tell  by 
her  absent  words  that  her  thoughts  were  upon 
him  and  his  little  boat,  never  once  did  she  quit 
her  mother  and  me  to  go  to  the  rocks  above 


76 

the  house  to  watch  his  coming :  such  sense  of 
right  conduct  had  this  admirable  girl !  But  this 
restraint  upon  her  wishes  obtained  for  Maurice 
a  more  frank  and  tender  reception,  than  he 
would  probably  have  had  otherwise  :  and  he 
was  cunning  enough  to  perceive  his  advantage, 
and  I  could  fancy  was  always  glad  to  embark  in 
his  boat  when  the  wind  was  high.  But  her 
mother  and  I  began  to  take  alarm,  lest  some 
evening  he  should  actually  set  out  in  a  tempest ; 
and  this  was  sufficient  reason  with  Berghetta 
not  to  ask  for  any  delay,  when  we  told  her  that 
Maurice  had  requested  from  us  their  immediate 
union. 

Maurice  was  now  rich  enough  in  all  con- 
science ;  besides  the  stock  of  cattle  and  im- 
plements on  his  farm,  which  had  multiplied 
unawares  to  a  considerable  amount,  his  corn 
crops  had  proved  beyond  his  expectation,  and 
had  sold  for  very  little  short  of  fifty  pounds. 

Though  I  always  discouraged  young  people 
from  marrying  idly  ;  poor  things,  they  little 
know  how  matrimony  galis  and  pinches,  when 
the  wedding  begins  with  an  empty  purse  ;  yet 
I  had  no  fears  for  Maurice  and  Berghetta,  for 
besides  their  own  means,  their  prudent  and 
pains-taking  habits  would  help  them  over  many 
rubs,  and  1  myself  had  wherewithal  to  assist 
them. 

Though  my  income  was  not  excessive,  my 
expenses  amounted  to  nothing :  a  suit,  that  I 
had  purchased  in  Spain,  of  their  fine  silky  wool, 
had  such  substance  in  it,  that  after  five  and 


77 

twenty  years  wear  it  still  was  respectable  on 
Sundays,  and  my  every  day  dress  was  made  of 
the  common  homespun  of  the  Island.  My 
duteous  flock  would  let  me  want  no  viands  that 
belong  to  country  fare ;  and  if  I  had  not  fre- 
quently invited  them  to  partake  of  their  own 
presents,  my  house  would  have  been  over- 
stocked with  fish,  poultry,  and  game.  But 
during  my  early  residence  in  Rahery,  where 
from  my  excluded  situation  I  was  free  from 
molestation,  I  felt  it.  my  duty  to  contribute  all 
the  money,  that  remained  to  me  at  the  end  of 
the  year,  to  my  suffering  brethren,  who  for 
several  years  were  driven  from  one  hiding 
place  to  another,  and  thrown  into  prison  or 
banished  when  discovered,  so  that  the  narrative 
of  their  miseries,  which  I  received  at  intervals 
from  my  communication  with  Dublin,  made  my 
heart  bleed. 

But  since  I  had  adopted  Maurice,  I  felt  it  a 
duty  to  lay  by,  though  a  trifle,  for  him  annu- 
ally ;  and  I  was  able  the  better  to  do  so,  as  a 
severe  pestilence,  which  visited  the  country, 
turned  the  governing  powers'  mind  from  perse- 
cution, and  the  Roman  Catholic  clergy  were 
allowed  to  expose  their  lives  in  peace,  assisting 
the  sick  and  dying. 

We  were  all  then  intent  on  coming  happi- 
ness ;  (frail  is  the  happiness  that  comes  to 
man  !)  when  some  travelling  medicants  brought 
the  news  to  Bengore,  whence  it  soon  passed  to 
us,  that  Hi  Sullivan  Bere  (ever  remembered 
and  honoured  be  his  name !)  was  driven  from 
his  castle  and  possessions,  and  had  expired  no 


long  time  after  at  a  tenant's  house.  We  griev- 
ed as  if  nothing  worse  could  happen  ;  and 
Maurice,  though  on  the  eve  of  his  marriage, 
prepared  to  set  off,  to  see  if  he  could  render 
any  assistance  to  James  Hi  Sullivan.  We  all 
agreed  in  his  departure,  and  he  would  not  have 
waited  a  .day,  hut  that  he  knew  of  a  vessel 
bound  to  Cork,  and  he  judged  it  more  expedi- 
tious to  take  his  passage  in  her. 

Thus  sorrowing,  twilight  found  us  in  the 
evening,  when  a  gentle  tap  at  the  door,  at  a 
time  when  strangers  so  seldom  passed,  made  us 
all  start  from  our  seats.  The  door  opened,  and 
James  Hi  Sullivan  in1  deep  mourning  entered  ; 
Maurice  sprang  forward,  and  threw  himself  into 
his  arms,  holding  him  in  a  straight  embrace. 

"  I  see,"  said  O'Sullivan,  with  tears  on  his 
cheeks,  yet  smiling,  "  you  know  all,  my  sweet 
and  worthy  friend,  for  you  never  gave  the 
prince  in  his  high  fortune  so  kind  a  reception." 

"  More  honoured,  more  revered,  but  not 
more  loved  than  ever ;"  said  Maurice,  "  how 
ought  we  to  worship  you  for  turning  to  us  in 
your  misfortunes !" 

I  stretched  out  my  hands  to  give  the  prince 
my  blessing.  The  widow  Tual,  unable  to  rise,, 
prayed  aloud  that  he  might  receive  heavenly 
blessings  in  lieu  of  those  of  which  he  was  be- 
reft, and  Berrett  did  not  hesitate  to  present  her 
cheek  to  his  salute.  Our  first  inquiries  were 
for  my  ancient  friend  now  with  God  ;  and  our 
first  consolation  was  to  hear,  that  he  had  borne 


79 

the  reverse  of  his  fortunes  like  the  heroes  of  his 
honoured  race,  and,  attaching  himself  to  God, 
heeded  not  as  the  world  passed  from  him.  He 
was  old,  and  his  health  broken,  and  his  death 
was  caused  by  a  severe  cold,  caught  by  being 
necessitated  to  move  in  winter  into  a  raw  house 
with  little  accommodation,  rather  than  from 
any  distress  of  mind.  This  had  happened  some 
months  ago,  but  James  Hi  Sullivan  was  unwil- 
ling, that  any  one  but  himself  should  be  the 
bearer  of  the  afflicting  tidings.  We  asked  no 
more  questions  the  rest  of  the  evening,  but  ex- 
erted ourselves  to  cheer  Hi  Sullivan's  spirits  by 
every  mark  of  respect  and  affection,  and  as  he 
was  naturally  of  an  intrepid  mind,  he  soon  re- 
vived, and  no  sign  of  humour  appeared  in  him 
except  once,  when  Berrett  happened  to  say, 
that  Maurice  was  to  have  sailed  in  two  days  for 
Cork  in  an  English  vessel — At  the  word  Eng- 
glish,  he  almost  rose  from  his  seat  and  cried, 
"  how  could  you,  Maurice,  think  of  going  in  an 
English  ship  ?  that  detestable  nation  !"  but  the 
next  moment  he  seemed  to  recollect  the  Eng- 
lish frigate,  and  immediately  softened,  "  yet," 
he  added,  "  there  was  one  English  ship  1  can 
forgive." 

Maurice  did  not  reply,  but  spoke  of  other 
things,  and  then  set  himself  to  do  all  the  offices 
of  a  servant  for  Hi  Sullivan,  which,  notwith- 
standing the  other's  opposition,  he  persisted  to 
do  while  he  staid  with  us,  and  in  this  respect  he 
was  no  loser,  for  Maurice  was  tidiness  itself. 

Next  day  Hi  Sullivan  confided  to  us  the  state 
of  his  affairs,  he  had  literally  nothing,  the  law- 


80 

suit  had  swallowed  all  the  money  that  his  fa- 
ther had,  and  the  personalities  were  seized  to 
satisfy  the  claims  of  the  spurious  owner  of  the 
estate.  All  that  he  had  saved  was  the  golden 
crown,  and  the  jewels  of  his  family  :  these  had 
been  reported  to  be  worth  I  know  not  what, 
many,  and  tens  of  thousands,  probably  exagger- 
ated, but  any  how  his  father  before  his  death 
had  exacted  a  promise  from  him  not  to  sell 
them,  and  he  had  brought  them  with  him  to 
leave  in  Maurice's  care. 

He  had  written  to  a  half  uncle,  who  was  a 
general  in  the  French  service,  but  poor  withal ; 
and  he  had  replied,  that  if  he  could  raise  one 
hundred  pounds  he  could  get  him  a  commission 
in  the  French  service  :  "  and  there  is  a  pros- 
pect of  war  too  with  England,"  said  he,  his  eyes 
glistening  ;  "  and  yet  to  raise  a  hundred  pounds 
is  out  of  the  question,  so  I  am  come  to  Maurice 
to  teach  me  to  labour  and  save  money." 

Maurice  was  the  next  day  more  downcast 
than  his  friend,  yet  though  I  guessed  pretty 
nearly  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  I  left  him 
to  himself — In  the  evening,  however,  he  came 
to  me  with  his  eyes  laughing  as  usual,  and  cri- 
ed, "  O  Father,  you  do  not  know  what  a  griev- 
ous perplexity  I  have  been  in  to  day,  and  all 
because  I  doubted  that  Berghetta  was  perfect. 

"  Was  it  not  natural,  the  instant  I  heard  that 
our  dear  friend  wanted  a  hundred  pounds,  that 
I  should  destine  my  savings  for  him  ?  what  de- 
light I  felt  at  the  idea  of  being  able  to  assist 
him !  and  he  so  little  expecting  that  I  was  able 


81 

• 

to  do  so  :  but  then,  this  was  to  sacrifice  Ber- 
ghetta,  and  bring  her  destitute  into  all  the  cares 
of  a  growing  family,  a  thing  I  had  determined 
never  to  do.  I  considered  this  over  and  over 
again,  till  my  head  ached  ;  at  last  I  thought  of 
doing  what  I  ought  to  have  done  at  first,  con- 
sulting with  Berghetta. — Hear  her  angel-reply. 

'  How  can  you  hesitate  for  a  moment,  Mau- 
rice, even  though  our  wedding  is  delayed,  or 
should  never  take  place  ?  we  are  placed  here 
to  perform  our  duties  ;  when  does  God  ever 
tell  us  to  consult  our  wishes  ?  how  nrserable 
shall  we  be,  if  we  set  our  hearts  only  on  happi- 
ness ?  Misfortunes  will  certainly  come,  and 
then  we  should  not  have  a  good  conscience  to 
support  us.  But  do  not,'  continued  she,  'let 
the  sacrifice  be  made  to  your  friend,  but  to 
God,'  and  kneeling  down,  she  drew  me  to  her 
side,  and  uttered  aloud  an  innocent  prayer, 
4  that  God  would  give  me  every  day  fresh  reso- 
lution to  abandon  the  allurements  of  the  world, 
and  to  draw  me  nearer  to  Heaven.' 

"  What  are  the  attractions  of  all  other  girls," 
exclaimed  Maurice,  "  compared  to  this  spotless 
and  tender  piety,  this  rigid  adherence  to  duty, 
this  regardlessness  of  herself!" 

The  widow  Tual,  who  was  sitting  by,  wept  at 
these  praises  of  her  daughter ;  her  only  terror 
was,  that  Maurice  would  not  sufficiently  love 
and  cherish  her  daughter,  who  had  been  from 
her  childhood  fed  on  a  mother's  tenderness  ; 
and  whose  nature  was  so  gentle,  susceptible, 
and  affectionate,  that  the  least  unkindness 
would  cut  her  to  the  heart. 


,     82 

"  Do  not,  dear  Maurice,"  said  the  widow, 
"  fret  about  Berrett's  comforts,  only  do  you  con- 
tinue always  your  love,  and  she  will  be  happy." 
She  then  desired  him  to  give  her  a  little  oak 
box — and  opening  it ;  "  here,"  she  continued, 
"  is  the  profit  of  my  spinning  and  lace  making, 
it  is  the  toil  of  many  days,  and  many  sleepless 
nights,  that  passed  pleasantly,  while  I  thought  I 
was  working  for  Berrett.  It  is  no  great  matter, 
but  Berrett's  work  has  always  supported  us,  and 
will  keep  your  house,  for  she  makes  lace,  and 
spins  admirably,  and  sleeps  little ;  so  that  this 
will  be  all  to  the  good." 

"  Madam,"  I  rejoined,  u  you  have  done  like 
a  true  mother  by  your  daughter,  and  1  also  have 
a  portion  for  my  son  ;  and  though  both  togeth- 
er they  do  not  amount  to  his  hundred  pounds, 
as  I  must  keep  something  too  for  the  prince,  yet 
it  will  be  enough  to  make  our  dear  children 
comfortable." 

"  Then  who,"  cried  Maurice,  in  the  pride  of 
his  heart,  "is  so  blest  as  I  ?" 

"  Give  the  praise  to  God,  child,"  said  I,  "  lest 
he  finds  occasion  to  chasten  you." 

What  I  said  was  only  common-place,  and  by 
rote,  but  my  words  were  nevertheless  prophe- 
tic. 

In  truth,  Maurice's  head,  to  use  his  own  ex- 
pression, was  a  little  turned ;  even  the  misfor- 
tunes of  his  friend,  now  he  was  able  to  admin- 
ister to  them,  did  not  sober  him.  But  Berrett, 


83 

though  she  loved  every  thing  he  did  and  said, 
for  siie  now  loved  him  entirely,  did  not  partake 
of  liis  intoxication,  hut  walked  with  a  suhdued 
heart,  and  a  steady  eye  fixed  upon  her  duties 
and  upon  heaven.  * 

She  came  in  with  the  prince,  for  he  had  tak- 
en a  great  fancy  to  her  sober  and  innocent  con- 
versation, and  as  our  first  object  now  was  to 
cheer  him,  we  had  sent  her  to  walk  with  him. 
We  communicated  our  arrangements  to  him,  and 
his  heart  overflowed  at  his  eyes,  "  my  dearest 
friends,"  he  cried,  "  why  should  I  think  of  my 
past  misfortunes  ?  I  have  none  now,  but  the  one 
that  exceeds  them  all,  that  I  must  part  from 
you;  and  you,  my  dearest  Maurice,  my  friend, 
my  particular  friend,  my  brother,  my  soul's  own, 
in  justice  to  your  noble  nature,  I  accept  of  the 
hard  earnings  of  your  long  toil ;  I  love  you  so 
much,  that  every  change  and  chance  makes 
me  love  you  more  ;  had  you  been  obliged  to 
me,  I  should  have  loved  you  better ;  now  that 
I  am  all  obliged  to  you,  I  love  you  better  still." 

Indeed  my  poor  roof  now  covered  a  happy 
set  of  mortals,  richly  blest  in  the  only  real  bles- 
sing of  life,  domestic  affection.  When  we  drew 
round  the  fire  at  night,  we  began  to  question 
James  Hi  Sullivan  again  ;  particularly  respec- 
ting Merritt  M'Cormick,  and  his. 

"  In  all  my  misfortunes,"  he  replied,  "  there 
was  nothing  mortified  me  so  much  as  the  con- 
duct of  Merritt  H'Cormick.  1  had  favoured 
him  on  Maurice's  account ;  but  I  arn  ashamed 
to  confess,  that  I  had  been  taken  by  his  flattery. 


84 

and  the  pleasantry  of  his  jests ;  would  you  be- 
lieve it !  he  was  the  very  first  person  to  desert 
us,  and  to  cringe  to  the  English  interloper  that 
ejected  us.  The  last  time  I  passed  the  gate, 
and  for  the  'last  time,  he  turned  away  his  head, 
and  pretended  not  to  notice  me ;  I  felt  so  en- 
raged, though  unworthily,  that  1  could  not  for- 
bear from  giving  him  a  cut  with  my  horse-whip, 
which  brought  him  on  his  knees  ;  where  I  left 
him.  But  you  will  be  glad,  Maurice,  to  hear 
how  different  was  the  conduct  of  your  friend, 
Rory,  oge,  O'Sullivan  ;  whom  I  had  always  con- 
sidered as  half  a  simpleton  ;  he  adhered  to  us 
when  we  were  outcast,  he  tended  my  poor 
father,  and  his  honest  affection  supplied  many 
wants  of  our  distressed  situation.  When  I  bade 
him  farewell,  and  presented  him  a  small  remu- 
neration from  my  scanty  means,  he  would  not 
accept  it ;  but  earnestly  begged,  that  I  would 
let  him  have  what  he  called  the  glory  of  attend- 
ing me,  which  it  should  be  his  pride  and  plea- 
sure to  do,  without  fee  or  reward." 

"  My  dear  Rory,"  I  replied,  "  for  we  had 
grown  familiar,  by  my  poor  father's  sick  bed, '  I 
know  not  how  to  maintain  myself,  and  should 
certainly  not  be  abje  to  support  you  :  while  you 
stay  here,  you  have  friends  and  acquaintance, 
that  will  not  let  you  want ;  I  think  that  my  recom- 
mendation will  still  avail,  to  procure  you  a  good 
situation  ;  and  you  shall  have  my  word  for  being 
the  most  faithful,  diligent,  and  loving  lad  a  poor 
master  ever  met  with.' 

"  Here  I  had  to  wait  till  a  shower  of  tears, 
called  forth  by  my  praise,  past  away,  when 
Rory  again  took  up  the  argument. 


••  An  to  the  matter  of  maintenance,'  he  repli- 
»vd,  4  if  the  worst  comes  to  the  worst,  I  can  live 
upon  Christian  charity,  though  it  be  hard  fare, 
provided) ou  go  into  no  heathen  countries ;  and 
{  shall  he  happier  with  one  meal  a  day,  and  that 
a  scanty  one,  as  your  follower,  than  1  ever  was 
in  the  pride  of  the  darling  castle,  that  they  have 
ejected  us  from  ;  glory  be  to  God  !' 

"  It  was  in  vain  I  urged,  that,  if  it  was  possi- 
ble, there  was  nothing  1  should  have  wished  so 
much  as  to  keep  him  with  me. 

"  Who,'  he  continued,  '  will  you  have  to  take 
care  of  your  horse  ?  and  if  he  is  left  to  the 
gossoons  at  the  inns,  he  will  soon  be  out  oi  con- 
dition, which  would  be  a  murder.' 

"  How  can  you  imagine,  Rory,  that  I  intend 
to  keep  a  horse  1  I  mean  to  sell  him  at  Cork.' 

"  Sell  your  horse !  sell  master  Maurice's  colt ! 
then  is  black  distress  indeed  come  on  us.'  And 
Rory  hung  his  head  discomfited. 

"  I  felt  quite  unmanned ;  for  I  always  fore- 
saw, that  the  parting  with  this  horse  would  be 
the  completion  of  my  distress. 

"  I  saw  no  more  of  Rory,  and  guessed  that 
he  could  not  bear,  and  was  unwilling  to  give  me 
the  pain  of  parting,  but  was  gone  to  hide  his 
sorrow  where  he  could  be  alone  and  unnoticed. 
I  never  had  felt  so  wretched,  and  should  have 
been  quite  desperate,  but  that  my  heart  fore- 
told me,  that  I  should  be  repaid  for  all  my 
sufferings  in  this  happy  meeting, 
a 


86 

•;  The  next  morning,  a  lad  that  Rory  had  sub- 
stituted brought  me  my  horse :  and  with  him  I 
left  a  letter  to  one  of  the  most  respectable  of 
our  tenants,  who  had  done  us  many  kind  offices, 
requesting  that  he  would  provide  for  Rory. 

"  And  now  I  had  to  undergo  the  last  torture 
of  my  heart :  for  the  whole  clan  had  assembled 
to  bid  me  farewell.  Patiently  I  had  to  endure 
the  importunity,  that  was  intended  kindly  ;  to 
thank  all  for  their  loyalty  and  affection ;  to 
speak  to  and  embrace  as  many  as  pressed  on 
me  for  this  purpose,  while  cries  of  rage  and 
desperation  resounded  from  the  distant  multi- 
tude :  but  when  I  set  my  horse  forward  in  a 
gallop,  and  waved  my  hand  in  token  of  a  last 
adieu,  a  burst  of  grief  broke  forth,  such  as 
wrung  me  to  the  soul.  Noble,  generous,  affec- 
tionate people  !  whatever  distance  divides  us, 
no  distance  shall  sever  you  from  my  heart. 

"  Poor  Don  felt  in  the  spurs  my  impatience 
to  quit  the  scene  of  my  fallen  fortunes.  I  did 
not  relax  my  speed,  till  the  rocks,  and  castle, 
and  every  known  object  about  Berehaven  were 
out  of  sight.  The  ignominy  my  father  had  en- 
dured pressed  down  my  spirits,  and  I  could  not 
even  think  of  my  friends  at  Rahery. 

"  I  reached  Cork  before  the  evening  became 
dark,  and  could  scarcely  think  that  my  eyes  did 
not  deceive  me,  when  Rory  and  his  long  coat, 
in  all  their  well  known  lineaments,  met  my 
view,  in  the  first  street  I  entered.  I  could  not 
be  angry,  and  yet  T  felt  provoked,  for  I  had 
resolved  to  imitate  Maurice,  and  by  avoiding 


87 

every  expense,  and  applying  to  some  kind  of 
labour,  endeavoured  to  raise  the  sum  necessary 
to  purchase  the  commission  my  uncle  offered. 
To  support  any  thing  like  a  servant,  was  quite 
inconsistent  with  this  plan  ;  and  besides,  I  was 
not  well  pleased  to  have  a  witness  of  the  very 
low  state  to  which  I  was  prepared  to  descend. 

"  Rory  studied  my  looks  a  while  before  he 
spoke,  and  then  said, 

'  Be  not  angry,  master  dear,  that  I  have 
stolen  a  march  on  you.  but  I  feared  you  would 
be  but  an  innocent  among  all  the  devouring 
gang  of  a  big  town  ;  and  poor  Don  too  would 
be  filched  out  of  both  hay  and  oats,  let  alone 
water,  which  he  would  be  let  go  without  from 
unconcern.  Nay,  now,  do  not  utter  a  word 
about  sending  me  back:  if  Don  could  speak, 
God  bless  him,  he  would  say  "  don't."  Here 
have  I  provided  hay,  oats,  and  litter  to  boot, 
with  a  warm  stall,  and  all  in  abundance,  and 
shall  not  cost  you  a  copper,  if  you  stay  here  till 
doom's-day  ;  all  in  an  honest  way  too,  so  don't 
object  that,9  continued  he,  seeing  me  about  to 
speak,  and  determined  I  should  not,  while  there 
was  any  chance  of  my  not  assenting.  '  I  was 
here  by  times,  for  I  borrowed  a  wild  colt  half 
the  way,  that,  being  blind,  travelled  as  well  by 
night  as  by  day ;  and  as  soon  as  I  arrived  here, 
I  went  in  my  own  mind  to  scheme  about  the 
inn.  Presently  up  came  a  lumbering  gay  coach 
and  six,  out  gets  the  quality,  and  then  the  world 
was  turned  upside  down  ;  not  a  hand  would 
coachman  or  postillions  lay  on  a  horse.  "  Clean 
them  well,  you  ragamuffin,"  said  the  state 
coachman  to  the  hostler,  "  and  you  shall  be 


38 

well  paid.'5  "  Holy  St.  Patrick,"  cried  the 
hostler,  "  how  shall  I  divide  myself  now  ?  there 
is  the  big  butter  merchant  screeching  for  a 
chaise  this  hour  past,  and  the  hacks  in  the  field, 
and  the  harness  wants  stiching,  and  then  to  ask 
a  sinner  like  myself  to  clean  six  horses  !" 

"  Quiet  on  your  conscience  now  and  for  ever, 
Mr.  Hostler,"  cried  I,  edging  in  ;  "  do  you  tend 
the  hacks  and  harness,  and  leave  the  six  cour- 
sers to  me,  and  if  in  half  an  hour  you  do  not 
see  your  merry  face  in  their  coats,  don't  you 
give  me  keep  gratis  for  the  prince  of  prancers, 
this  lovely  night,  which  is  all  I  ask  in  return, 
and  you  shall  have  my  willirg  service  from 
dawn  to  twilight  to  grace  the  bargain." — Sure 
did  not  I  know,'  continued  Rory,  ;  that  if  once 
Don  and  I  made  a  lodgment,  twenty  big  wigs 
could  not  eject  us  ?  I  was  irresistible,  master 
dear,  and  kept  my  word,  for  I  put  the  horses 
out  of  hand  in  such  shining  trim  (sure  did  not 
I  learn  the  art  from  Master  Maurice),  that 
coachman  and  postillions  gave  their  applause, 
not  to  me  but  the  hostler,  and  paid  him  accord- 
ingly. The  hostler  too  is  an  undeniable  man, 
and  will  keep  his  word  with  me  and  Don ;  but 
where  will  you  lodge,  master  ?  the  inn  is  an  ele- 
gant inn,  if  it  were  washed  ;  but  my  mind  mis- 
gives me,  that  it  is  wickedly  dear.' 

"  He  stopped  at  last,  for  he  perceived  that 
all  my  vexation  had  fled  before  his  faithful  zeal. 

"  Since  you  have  provided  so  well  for  Don? 
Rory,  I  want  nothing  but  shelter ;  and  the 
poorest  house,  owned  by  an  Q'Sullivan.  will 


89 

suit  my  fortunes  best.  Take  my  horse  to  the 
inn,  and  when  you  return,  you  will  find  me 
walking  in  this  street." 

"  I  laboured  under  that  depression,  that 
would  put  up  with  every  inconvenience  rather 
than  make  an  exertion  ;  and  inquiring  among 
the  miserable  cabins  where  '  dry  lodgings  were 
let,'  I  found  but  one  kept  by  a  woman  of  the 
name  of  O' Sullivan,  and  that  the  poorest,  and 
there  I  entered. 

"  The  blessing  of  the  Saints  light  on  you, 
mother !'  She  perceived  I  was  a  Catholic,  and 
drew  me  in  with  a  look  of  terror,  and  shut  the 
door.  <  There  is  no  fear,'  I  continued,  '  I  am 
in  distress  only,  not  in  danger,  and  if  you  can 
give  me  shelter  for  the  night,  I  would  willingly 
leave  my  mite  with  an  O' Sullivan  ;'  and  I  put 
a  shilling  into  her  hand.  Conceive  the  strange- 
ness of  my  feelings,  to  give  a  shilling,  only  a 
shilling,  and  expect  a  return !  But  I  had  only 
twenty  in  my  pocket ;  my  poor  father's  ex- 
penses— a  number  of  poor  people  that  I  could 
not  leave  behind  wholly  destitute,  and  some 
unforeseen  charges,  had  reduced  my  means  so 
low,  and  I  had  a  long  way  to  travel  before  I  could 
expect  to  reach  you.  Having  made  this  ar- 
rangement, I  went  into  the  street  to  wait  for 
Rory.  This  indefatigable  fellow  was  not  long 
in  feeding  and  cleaning  Don,  and  rejoining  me. 

"  I  was  fortunate  in  hearing,  on  my  first  in- 
quiry, of  a  ship  that  was  to  sail  in  the  evening 
for  Belfast.     My   only  difficulty  now   was  .to 
escape  from  Rory  5  but  he  guessed  my  inten- 
8* 


90 

tion,  and  watched  all  my  motions  ;  and  when  1 
absolutely  forbid  him  from  going  with  me  in  the 
boat,  he  said  it  was  of  no  consequence,  that  he 
would  throw  himself  into  the  sea,  and  ride  on 
the  back  of  a  white  wave  to  the  ship.  I  saw 
that  he  was  so  intent  on  carrying  his  point,  that 
he  would  risk  drowning  himself:  I  therefore 
asked  it  as  a  favour,  that  he  would  remain  be- 
hind, to  try  and  sell  Don  to  the  best  advantage, 
giving  him  leave  afterwards  to  join  me  here, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  but  he  will  soon  arrive  j 
one  advantage  of  my  commission  will  be  en- 
abling ine  to  keep  a  servant  without  expense, 
and  I  shall  be  greatly  happy  to  provide  for  this 
kind  and  faithful  creature.  Hitherto  he  has 
provided  for  me ;  for  on  coming  on  board  I 
found  a  large  basket  of  provisions  containing 
choice  pies  and  pastry,  as  well  as  cold  meats, 
which  he  had  placed  in  my  cabin  with  my 
small  portmanteau." 

We  all  joined  in  Rory's  praise,  but  Merritt 
M'Cormick's  name  never  passed  our  lips  again. 
We  were  now  busy  preparing  for  Maurice's 
wedding,  which  it  was  settled  should  take  place 
before  O'Sullivan's  departure. 

O'Sullivan  recovered  his  spirits,  Maurice 
'trod  on  air,  even  Jterrett's  needle  was  idle ;  the 
widow  Tual  alon£  plied  her  work  till  past  the 
midhour  of  night,*  for  she  worked  for  Berrett, 
while  I,  poor  old  fool,  promised  myself  and 
them  many  days  of  happiness* 

Maurice*s  wedding  was  again  delayed  for 
some  seven  weeks,  by  the  illness  of  the  widow 


01 

Tual,  vvho  I  thought  would  have  died;  and 
Gerrett  was  in  such  poignant  distress,  that 
Maurice  did  not  venture  even  to  talk  to  her  of 
himself  or  herself. 

During  this  time  we  heard  frequently  of  Una, 
not  that  we  had  ever  lost  sight  of  her,  but 
hitherto  she  had  lived  a  retired  and  peaceful 
life  with  good  lady  McCartney,  secure  from  all 
dangers  and  temptations,  and  happy  and  con- 
tented in  her  humble  situation.  She  saw  no 
one  but  a  few  female  friends  of  Lady  M'Cart- 
ney,  whose  conversation  was  refined  and  pious, 
and  who  had  noticed  Una  with  much  kindness. 

But  the  scene  was  now  changed,  they  were 
gone  to  Paris,  where  Lady  McCartney  lived  at 
court.  I  wrote  for  intelligence  to  my  friend, 
Madame's  confessor,  to  whose  superintendance 
I  recommended  Una  5-  he  was  a  man  of  the 
world,  and  knew  the  world,  and  his  judgment 
I  could  depend  on.  He  said  that  nothing  was 
ever  seen  so  charming  and  beautiful  as  Una; 
but  though  every  one  extolled  her,  her  depen- 
dant situation  prevented  any  one  from  much 
noticing  her  ;  she  was  not  sufficiently  free  from 
vanity,  to  bear  patiently  and  goodhumouredly 
the  being  at  once  an  object  of  admiration  and 
neglect,  but  showed  more  signs  of  pride  and 
fretfulness  than  he  could  approve. 

I  did  not  mention  this  to  Maurice,  but  wrote 
to  Una,  setting  forth  the  great  value  of  humili- 
ty, and  earnestly  recommending  her  to  submit 
her  conduct  to  the  guidance  of  the  father  Du- 
pre. 


92 

In  the  mean  time  the  widow  Tual  resumed 
her  ordinary  state  of  health,  and  Maurice's  wed- 
ding was  again  in  preparation,  and  that  nothing 
might  be  wanting,  Rory  oge  O'Sullivan  made 
his  appearance. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening,  when  we  heard  a 
voice  outside  the  door  cry,  "  God  bless  this 
house,  if  it  be  father  O'Brien's,  and  a  happy 
death  to  those  therein." 

"  It  is  Rory,"  cried  O'Sullivan,  starting  upr 
and  running  to  the  door. 

It  was  Rory  indeed  ;  O'Sullivan  and  Mau- 
rice each  seized  one  of  his  hands,  and  gave  him 
a  hearty  welcome  5  but  the  next  moment  could 
not  refrain  from  a  fit  of  laughter  at  his  strange 
equipment.  He  wras  dressed  in  a  compleatsuit 
of  black  velvet,  with  not  less  than  twenty  yards 
of  black  crape  round  his  hat,  and  at  least  a 
dozen  of  linen  weepers  hanging  from  his  shoul- 
der. 

"  In  the  name  of  Dis  and  Proserpine,  and  all 
the  infernal  deities,  fates,  and  furies  to  boot, 
what  is  the  meaning  of  this  metamorphose  ?" 
said  O'Sullivan  5  "  but  come,  get  father  O'Bri- 
en's blessing,  and  then  sit  down  by  the  fire  and 
tell  us  your  whole  history,  for  1  do  not  yet 
know  where  you  got  all  the  pastry,  that  you 
put  on  board  with  me." 

"  Your  blessing,  father,  and  long  may  you 
reign-,"  said  Rory,  wiping  his  eyes  and  whim- 
pering not  a  little.  Then  the  next  moment 


93 

catching  a  smile  from  O'Neal  and  O'Sullivan  ; 
:-  I  did  not  intend,"  he  said,  "  to  have  come 
in  on  you  so  unawares,  for  fear  my  weeper 
might  have  scared  the  ladies  ;  but  when  I  found 
myself  at  the  door,  and  heard  your  voices  with- 
in, I  could  not  refrain.  The  pastry,  master 
dear  !  sure  you  did  not  think  I  would  let  you 
go  to  be  starved  at  sea,  while  I  had  wit  to  beg 
or  borrow,  and  more  pride  than  valued  a  re- 
pulse from  those  low  born  city  people  ?  If  you 
must  know,  I  overtook  in  the  street  an  old  tat- 
tered thing,  without  cap  or  stocking,  and  her 
back  breaking  under  a  basket  of  meat,  '  mo- 
ther,' said  1,  4  rest  your  old  bones,  set  down 
that  mountain  of  victuals,  and  Pll  carry  it  for 
you  to  the  world's  end,  if  you  are  bound  so  far.' 
6  You  are  a  gracious  lad'  replied  the  old  crone, 
4  and  well  found,  for  my  hips  are  killed  out- 
right, and  I'd  be  dead  before  I  brought  that  load 
home,  though  it  is  only  to  alderman  Shew's  in 
the  next  street. — Take  it  up,  and  I'll  not  fear 
that  you  will  run  away  with  it.'  She  helped  me 
up  with  it ;  and  when  she  let  it  go,  I  thought  I 
had  got  Knocksheegowna*  on  my  back.  How- 
ever I  went  bravely  on  with  it,  but  blessed  my 
stars  that  the  alderman's  was  so  nigh. 

"  Here,'  said  she,  when  we  entered  the  kitch- 
en, 'here,  MIJS.  Cook,  is  your  meat,  and  you 
might  have  waited  a  good  while  for  it,  for  I  was 
nigh  spent,  but  that  I  met  with  this  good  lad, 
that  took  it  off  my  shoulders,  and  well  he  de- 
serves, for  the  load  is  too  great  for  any  but  a 
beast  of  burden,  or  the  likes  of  me.' 

*Tbe  bill  of  the  fairy  Una, 


94 

;i  Thanks  to  him,  and  cut  him  a  collop  of  the 
meat,'  said  this  empress  of  cooks,  c  for  I  was  in 
a  taking,  lest  the  meat  would  be  too  late  for  the 
soups  and  gravies.5  '  And  are  you  a  going  to 
make  soups  and  gravies  ?'  said  I,  '  Lo  and  be- 
hold ye,  you  might  search  from  Bantry  to  Bere- 
haven,  and  you  would  not  find  such  a  hand  at 
soups  and  gravies,  let  alone  fricandeaus,  farcies, 
bouillies  as  myself,  though  it  is  not  I  that  should 
say  it ;  sure  was  not  I  head  kitchen  boy  five 
years  under  Monsieur  Pafoi  (and  he  was  a  pro- 
per cook),  at  the  ancient  and  glorious  castle  of 
Berchaven,  where  prince  Hi  Sullivan  Bere  held 
his  state,  O  never  to  be  named  by  me  but  with 
gushing  tears  ?'  (and  I  wept  a  turn.) — '  But  try 
me,  madam,  and  you'll  find  that  I  make  no  dish- 
wash,  or  curdled  cream,  and  call  them  soups : 
I'll  not  mix  up  flour  and  butter  and  cream,  and 
palm  it  off  for  cullis.' 

"  The  cook  looked  gracious,  and  without 
more  ado  I  stripped,  and  soon  showed  her  the 
difference  between  French  and  Cork  cooking ; 
and  as  she  was  a  woman  of  good  judgment,  she 
gave  me  due  praise,  and  the  relics  of  the  pastry 
at  parting,  and  the  alderman  and  his  company 
were  so  enchanted  with  their  fare,  that  the 
kitchen  was  ever  at  my  service  ;  indeed  I  part- 
ed from  the  cook,  Mrs.  Sweetman,  with  great 
wo  ;  for  though  she  was  somewhat  bleareyed 
from  the  fire,  she  was  a  gentle  thing,  and  had 
much  discretion.  / 

"  But  then  -to  the  main  business,  to  dispose  of 
Don.  Since  we  must  sunder,  said  I,  you  shall 
not  go  for  less  than  forty  pounds,  and1  if  I  was 


95 

not  in  haste,  you  are  well  worth  a  hundred. 
The  hostler  put  his  soul  into  the  business,  and 
I  took  Don  to  every  one,  gentle  and  simple,  in 
the  town,  that  wanted  a  horse. — But  oh,  the 
noble  beast !  resolved  was  he,  that  none  but  a 
prince,  or  friend,  should  mount  his  back  ;  and 
though  he  would  pace  as  gently  as  a  lamb,  when 
I  got  on  his  back,  yet  he  fairly  flung  every  one 
of  the  Cork  squires,  that  ventured  to  mount 
him. 

"  Thus  was  I  thrown  all  on  a  heap,  till  the 
hostler,  at  a  last  lift,  gave  me  a  commendation  to 
the  state  upholsterer  of  the  town,  who,  by  the 
mercies  of  the  Saints,  happened  at  the  moment 
to  want  both  a  horse  and  a  coachman ;  and  a 
great  funeral  pressing  to  be  performed.  It 
wrung  my  heart  to  part  with  Don  for  twenty 
guineas,  but  I  was  resolute  to  stick  to  Mr.  Fan- 
chase,  the  funeral-man,  till  I  realized  the  other 
twenty.  Both  Don  and  I  were  to  his  taste ; 
and  the  second  day  did  not  pass,  till  he  was 
made  sensible,  that  he  had  got  a  proper  lad  for 
his  trade.  The  defunct  was  a  lady  of  quality, 
and  her  husband  a  bit  of  a  Milesian,  that  had 
some  notion  of  wrhat  was  proper  at  a  funeral ; 
and  he  would  have  it  recited  afore,  that  it 
might  be  all  to  his  mind.  But  when  he  heard 
the  old  women  screech,  that  were  to  be  the 
mourners,  he  was  besides  himself,  for  they  had 
degenerated  so  much  from  the  true  Coronach, 
that  they  made  a  yell  that  could  not  but  be  un- 
palatable to  Christian  ears.  Then  it  was  I  that 
set  all  to  rights  ;  and  by  given  out  the  true 
notes  myself,  and  keeping  them  practising  till 
you  would  have  thought  the  world  at  an  end,  I. 


96 

got  them  all  In  tune.  Then  I  showed  how  the 
grandfather's  corpse  went  in  procession,  and  in- 
stead of  letting  the  riders  go  all  in  a  lump,  put 
them  two  and  two  with  foot  mourners  between, 
so  that  the  train  looked  truly  grand,  and  the 
gentleman  was  in  raptures  thereat.  And  had 
you  seen  how  princely  Don  looked,  with  his 
head  nodding  with  black  feathers,  and  only  a 
snail's  pace  to  go  for  the  most  part,  with  plenty 
of  oats  to  make  him  look  comely,  you  would 
be  well  satisfied  with  the  disposition  I  made  of 
him.  Then  it  was  I  that  got  the  credit,  and 
from  that  day  out,  the  upholsterer  scarcely  ven- 
tured to  say  his  soul  was  his  own,  so  much  he 
deferred  to  me. 

"  He  was  a  soft  man,  and  a  good  liver  :  and 
who  had  a  better  right  ?  for  he  made  his  money 
easily,  and  was  no  neger. — Sorry  he  was  to  part 
with  me,  and  offered  me  high  wages  to  stay,  but 
my  heart  was  with  you  here,  and  I  told  him  it 
was  time  to  be  gone.  At  parting,  he  compli- 
mented me  with  a  score  of  weepers  wrhich  will 
make  good  shirts,  and  a  cast  pall  of  velvet,  that 
I  got  cut  up  into  suits.  "  So,  dear  master,  here 
is  proof  enough,  that  you  may  let  me  serve  you, 
without  fearing  an  incumbrance." 

"  My  kind,  affectionate  fellow,"  said  Hi  Sul- 
livan, "you  shall  only  change  your  black  for 
red,  and  we  part  no  more." 

•"  Blessed  hour!"  cried  Rory. 

We  then  acquainted  Rory  with  the  state  01 
affairs,  and  he  allowed,  "  that  if  it  was  not  for  a 


lew  thoughts  about  the  old  castle,  we  had  rea- 
son to  be  right  joyous." 

We  now  prepared  for  Maurice's  wedding,  and 
Rory  proved  himself  ambidexter,  shining  equal- 
ly at  funeral  and  wedding  :  and  when  we  sat 
down  to  the  wedding  dinner,  all  bore  witness, 
that  he  had  not  spoken  with  undue  praise  of 
his  skill  in  cookery,  for  he  superintended  the 
whole.  Maurice  seemed  exalted  above  all  hu- 
mankind; even  James  Hi  Sullivan  for  the  mo- 
ment seemed  quite  eclipsed  ;  and  if  ever  Mau- 
rice felt  conscious  of  royal  blood  in  his  veins, 
it  was  now,  when  the  possession  of  Berghetta 
seemed  to  place  him  in  a  prosperity  above 
kings.  Our  jest  was  now  to  convict  Rory  of  a 
surpassing  admiration  of  Berritt ;  his  eyes  were 
scarcely  ever  off  her,  and  whenever  she  spoke, 
he  listened  with  his  lips  wide  apart,  and  when 
she  ceased,  he  would  recover  himself  with  a 
deep  drawn  sigh.  He  had  never  seen  any  thing 
like  her  in  female  kind  ;  the  gentleness  and  dis- 
tinctness of  her  utterance,  the  sweetness  of  her 
voice,  and  the  simple  wisdom  of  all  she  said, 
captivated  his  regards ;  but  when  he  became 
acquainted  with  the  piety,  which  was  dominant 
over  all  her  feelings,  he  regarded  her  as  a  saint. 
Then  she  would  sing  for  him  the  old  Irish  songs 
her  father  had  brought  from  the  Wicklow 
mountains,  which  tallied  with  many  that  Rory 
had  learnt  in  Connaught,  about  the  exploits  of 
Fin  the  son  of  Comhal,  or,  as  they  call  him. 
Fin  M'Coul.  He  was  quite  beside  himself,  and 
would  chafe  and  leave  us  when  Maurice  pre- 
tended to  be  jealous,  and  sometimes  raised  a 
blush  on  Berrett's  cheek. 
0 


Oh  happy  days  !  how  shortly  did  you  abide ! 

Hi  Sullivan  lingered  with  us,  and  no  wonder ; 
but  I  thought  it  best  at  last,  that  he  should  no 
longer  neglect  his  uncle's  offer,  and  having  in- 
quired and  heard  of  a  ship  bound  to  Bourdeaux, 
he  fixed  to  leave  us. 

Tears  were  shed  at  parting,  but  not  bitter 
tears,  for  hope  was  then  still  bright. 

Hi  Sullivan  told  me,  that  the  first  absence 
he  could  procure  from  his  regiment  he  would 
employ  in  seeking  Una;  and  I  prognosticated 
the  attachment,  that  would  take  place  between 
them. 

Maurice  returned  to  his  home,  which  he  had 
made  quite  elegant  for  the  reception  of  Berrett 
and  her  mother.  The  kitchen  was  flagged,  and 
the  best  rooms  boarded,  so  that  there  was  no 
dirt  a  foot ;  and  every  room  was  ceiled,  so  that 
no  dust  or  hangings  dropped  from  above  ;  size- 
able windows,  that  opened,  made  the  house 
cheerful  and  healthy ;  and  there  was  such  a 
plenty  of  furniture  and  flowers,  that  he  might  be 
counted  to  have  made  good  his  pledge  of  bring- 
ing his  wife  to  as  good  a  house  as-  that  of  the 
Mapletons. 

Still,  however,  he  set  all  his  land,  except  one 
field  he  kept  for  a  cow,  and  stuck  to  his  daily 
task  work ;  so  that  beside  the  rent,  he  was  sure 
of  a  large  in-coming  of  wages  at  the  end  of  the 
year ;  and  as  Berrett  was  about  to  bring  him  a 
family,  he  never  wasted  a  moment  in  idleness. 


99 

,uid  never  spent  a  penny  out  of  his  house.  Yet 
his  dress  and  every  thing  about  him  were  in  a 
superior  style  to  any  thing  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, which  proceeded  from  his  care  in  allow- 
ing nothing  to  be  damaged  by  his  neglect.  So 
great  now  was  the  opinion  entertained  of  his 
being  a  judicious  }roung  man,  that,  if  the  price 
of  any  thing,  of  crops,  or  cattle,  or  measure- 
ment, was  to  be  left  to  a  valuation,  it  was  al- 
ways referred  to  him  ;  and  as  it  was  known, 
that  he  had  a, conscience,  no  one  ever  demur- 
red to  his  saying.  In  like  manner  with  all  dif- 
ferences and  disputes;  and  though  they  took 
up  much  of  his  time,  he  never  grudged  it,  as  he 
counted  it  a  duty  owing  to  his  neighbours. 

Berrett  never  was  seen  out  of  her  house, 
except  for  prayers,  or  when  another  woman 
was  in  sickness  or  sorrow,  or  when  children 
ailed.  Then  she  would  make  her  way  through 
all  weathers,  and  had  still  some  little  assistance 
of  medicine  or  clothing  to  give  ;  or,  when  this 
was  ineffectual  or  not  wanted,  she  would  read  a 
chapter  of  the  Bible,  judiciously  selected,  by 
the  bedside  of  the  sufferer.  On  the  fine  sum- 
mer's evenings  too  she  would  collect  the  chil- 
dren of  the  neighbouring  cabins,  and  teach 
them  more  in  an  hour,  than  schools  teach  in  a 
day.  Every  moment  that  she  could  spare  from 
her  husband,  her  mother,  and  her  work,  she 
spent  at  her  devotions,  and  the  perusal  of  the 
Testament.  The  only  tears  she  ever  shed 
were,  when  Maurice  seemed  jealous  of  her  stay- 
ing too  long  from  him,  and  complained  that  she 
was  too  good.  There  never  Was  so  blest  a 
couple;  and  that  nothing  might  bo  wanting,  to 


100 

their  happiness,  Berrett  in  the  first  live  years  of 
their  marriage  became  the  mother  of  three 
children,  two  boys  and  a  girl,  who  from  their 
infancy  were  the  most  lovely  creatures  eyes 
ever  beheld.  Berrett  was  now  obliged  to  attend 
entirely  to  these,  and  could  earn  little  by  her 
work  ;  but  it  did  not  matter,  as  Maurice  had 
been  sufficiently  provident,  and  \vas  now  grown 
quite  wealthy,  so  that  Berrett  enjoyed  every 
comfort,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  her 
children  always  neat  and  clean. 

Besides,  the  widow  Tual  seemed  to  recover 
her  youth  and  strength,  in  her  daughter's  hap- 
piness ;  and  her  lace,  which  was  an  uncommon 
fabric  in  this  part  of  the  country,  sold  for  no 
inconsiderable  sum. 

They  always  rejoiced  me  with  a  visit,  at  least 
twice  in  the  year,  at  the  Easter  and  Christmas 
holydays,  and  many  an  odd  day  I  made  some 
excuse  for  spending  my  time  with  them.  Shall 
1  ever  forget  the  delight  of  Berrett's  counte- 
nance, when  I  gave  my  blessing  to  her  darl- 
ing children  ? 

We  heard,  though  of  course  not  often,  as  the 
communication  was  difficult,  from  Hi  Sullivan. 
He  was  frequently  in  action,  and  acquired  re- 
nown ;  but  complained  of  the  uncultivated  man- 
ners of  the  officers,  so  different  from  those  of 
Maurice  ;  and  mentioned  the  very  slow  increase 
of  his  little  pay,  which  had  prevented  him  from 
refunding  Maurice's  money  as  he  had  intended. 
Rory,  he  said,  was  a  great  comfort,  though  he 
never  ceased  to  sigh  for  Ireland,  and  sorrow  for 


lOi 

the  castle  of  Berehaven.  LeV  me 'be' quick 
now,  for  it  does  me  no  good  at  my  time  of  life, 
to  dwell  upon  misfortunes,  and  upon  what  can- 
not be  bettered. 

The  widow  Tual  died  suddenly,  while  sitting 
in  her  chair  by  the  fire-side  :  faintings,  and  a 
temporary  loss  of  reason,  succeeded  on  Ber- 
ghetta's  part;  she  had  often  said  to  me,  thai 
she  could  not  survive  the  loss  of  either  her 
mother,  her  husband,  or  children  ;  and  though 
I  imagined,  that  with  years  she  had  acquired 
more  endurance,  she  best  knew  the  fragility  of 
the  thread  on  which  her  life  depended.  Alarm- 
ed at  her  situation,  I  proposed  to  Maurice,  that 
he  should  bury  her  mother  with  her  husband, 
at  the  Refeast,  at  the  Seven  Churches,  in  the 
county  of  Wicklow,  as  I  divined  that  Berrett 
would  exert  herself  for  the  performance  of  this 
pious  duty:  and  so  far,  I  was  not  deceived: 
the  necessity  of  exertion  brought  Berrett  to 
herielf.  I  agreed  to  accompany  her,  and  Mau- 
rice would  not  separate  her  from  the  children. 
but  took  them  with  him.  It  was  summer,  and 
the  weather  fine  ;  the  journey,  though  long, 
was  not  inconvenient ;  and  Maurice's  tender- 
ness, and  the  sweet  society  of  her  children, 
seemed  gradually  to  restore  Berrett,  but  though 
she  smikd  as  usual,  she  spoke  little. 

Arrived   at  the  Seven  Churches,   we   were  • 
hospitably  entertained  by  one  of  the  clan  of  the 
Tuals  ;  few  of  them  were  left  in  the  country, 
but  this  had  prospered,  having  a  good  lease  of 
the  archbishop's  lands,  and  a  large  herd  of  cat- 
tle, and  an  infinitude  of  sheep,  so  that  his  house 
was  quite  pastoral  and  patriarchal. 
9* 


;id  was  performed,  I  took 
great  delight  in  viewing  the  -olemn  arid  nia_ 
ricent  scene-TV,  in  which  th  ancient  Irish 

university  was  placed.  What  can  be.  more 
superb  than  the  slight  yet  stupendous  round 
tower,  that,  rising  from  the  border  of  the  lake, 
overlook  the  mountain  tops  ?  I  paced 
with  melancholy  feelings  the  pavement  of  the 
ancient  streets,  and  meditated  in  the  ancient 
churches,  where  the  quicken  had  planted 
roots  in  the  fissures  of  the  stone  roofs.  How 
gloomy  would  he  the  thought  of  the  unrecorded 
dead,  but  that  religioi  iem  an  interest  in 

our  memories  and  anticipations.  Darling  Ber- 
ghetta  seemed  soothed  by  the  quiet  of  the  place, 
but  she  had  not  yet  recovered  her  natural 
It  was  the  third  morning  after  we  had 
buried  her  mother,  that  she  whispered  to  me. 
that  she  would  be  glad  if  I  would  walk  with 
her  to  the  Refeast.  as  Maurice  was  going  on  the 
mountains  to  see  the  sheep  flock,  and  -h- 
to  speak  to  me  alone. 

I  met  her  as  she  desired,  but  she  said  noth- 
ing but  what  was  common,  as  we  walked  along 
the  brink  of  the  lake,  and  the  wild  path,  that 
led  to  the  Refeast.  This  building  was  entirely 
darkened  by  large  thorns,  quickens,  and  ash 
trees,  that  hung  over  it.  Berrett  entered  it. 
.-at  down  upon  a  slab  that  covered  the  tomb  ol 
king  O  Tual,  and  made  me  sit  beside  her. 

••  I  wish,  father."  said  she.  ••  to  tell  you  what 
happened  to  me  here  last  night.     I  was  res- 
in bed.  and   seeing   the  moon   shining   bright 
through  the  window.  I  felt  a  desire  I  could  not 
get  the  better  of.  to  visit  my  mother's  grave. 


103 

Maurice  was  fast  asleep,  so  I  dressed  m\ ! 
and  leaving  the  house  quietly.  I  did  not  stop  till 
I  came  to  this  spot.     On  entering,  it  was  ^ 
dark,  but  I  perceived  in  that  corner  rather  a 
light  appearance,  that  kept  my  eyes  fixed  on 
the   spot ;  then   I  heard  a  low  voice  which  1 
could  not  mistake,  it  was  my  mothers,  that  said. 
•  do  not  be  afraid,  Berghetta." 

••  \  v  fears  that  I  had  immediately  ceased, 
and  presently  I  could  perceive,  though  dimlv. 
the  very  form  and  countenance  of  my  mother. 
Think  of  my  transport.  •  What  is  it,  dear 
mother/  I  cried.  *  thut  you  would  say  /*  for  I 
did  not  venture  to  move  from  the  spot,  lest  the 
appearance  should  vanish. 

"  ;  You  will  die.  Berghetta,'  I  heard  her  say. 
1  but  do  not  fear ;  neither  grieve  for  Maurice 
nor  your  children  ;  they  will  come  to  us  ;  give 
\  ourself  up  to  God,  who  cares  for  all  his  crea- 
tures.' 

••  I  then  seemed  to  hear  sweet  music,  and 
the  vision  disappeared,  not  at  once,  but  gradual- 
ly getting  fainter  and  fainter." 

I  could  not  doubt  Berrett's  veracity,  and  if 
ever  a  mortal  deserved  a  communication  from 
Heaven,  it  was  herself.  She  seemed  pleased 
at  my  not  calling  the  wonderful  account  in 
question,  and  now  seemed  so  exalted  above  all 
the  cares  of  life,  that  grief  had  no  longer  hold 
on  her,  only  that  by  the  avoiding  any  mention 

Maurice  and  her  children,  I  could  perc« 
she  did  not  feel  strength  enough  to  dwell  on 
the  idea  of  parting  from  them. 


104 

She  now  conversed  as  usual,  and  even  with 
increased  cheerfulness,  so  that  Maurice  was 
quite  delighted,  and  willingly  prolonged  his  stay 
on  the  invitation  of  our  worthy  host.  But  Ber- 
rett  did  not  miss  any  unstrained  opportunity  of 
pressing  the  ideas  of  God  and  a  future  world 
upon  Maurice's  mind,  and  this  he  thought  but 
natural  after  her  late  loss.  She  would  sit  too 
motionless,  gazing  with  delight  on  her  children 
for  a  long  time ;  but  this  she  had  been  accus- 
tomed to,  and  used  often  to  reproach  herself 
with  it  as  an  idleness  ;  so  that  there  was  noth- 
ing to  prepare  Maurice  for  the  blow  that  fell  on 
him.  I  had  advised  her  not  to  mention  what 
had  occurred  to  her  at  the  Refeast,  for  if  noth- 
ing followed,  Maurice  would  only  have  been 
the  more  inclined  to  check  her  propensity  to 
religious  thoughts,  and  he  had  already  shown 
that  he  was  inclined  to  do  so. 

We  were  sitting  at  breakfast,  it  might  be  ten 
days  after  her  mother's  funeral,  and  .Maurice 
was  hastening  us,  that  we  might  go  to  Saint 
Kevin's  cave,  when  Berrett  said,  smiling,  "  if  it 
was  not  for  shame  of  being  thought  lazy,  I  had 
much  rather  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep." 

"  Lean  your  head  then  on  my  breast,"  said 
Maurice,  still  in  jest. 

She  did  so  ;  and  closed  her  eyes.  I,  who 
watched  her,  saw  her  face  become  pale  as  she 
sunk  gradually  in  Maurice's  lap. 

"  Take  care,"  said  I,  "  she  is  not  well." 
Alas  !  while  I  spoke  she  was  past  all  our  care. 


105 

her  spirit,  perfect  in  holiness,  had  passed  with- 
out a  struggle  to  its  immortal  destination.  Poor 
Maurice  !  spoiled  by  unceasing  prosperity  >  ha- 
bituated to  tind  success  attend  on  all  his  endea- 
vours, unknown  to  himself  he  had  become  pre- 
sumptuous and  selfconfident.  He  received  the 
stroke  as  if  it  had  been  dealt  by  a  secret  enemy, 
he  seemed  overwhelmed  equally  by  astonish- 
ment and  desperation,  arid,  when  his  tears 
ceased  to  flow,  appeared  impatient,  bewildered, 
and  farouche. 

I  refrained  from  admonition,  for  I  knew  his 
nature  and  sense,  and  waited  patiently  till  the 
mists  that  obscured  his  mind  dispersed. 

At  length,  when  a  few  days  had  passed,  he 
came  to  me,  and  after  indulging  in  tears  for  an 
instant;  "Father,"  he  said,  "I  have  thought 
more  and  to  better  purpose  these  last  four  days, 
than  I  have  done  all  the  rest  of  my  life  ;  and 
the  first  evidence  of  it  is,  that  I  now  plainly 
perceive  my  own  amazing  folly  and  imbecility, 
when  I  thought  myself  wise,  and  safe  in  this 
world's  prosperity.  But  my  eyes  are  opened, 
and  I  do  not  now  regret,  though  my  tears  still 
fall,  and  he  stopped  awhile  and  wept ;  I  do  not 
now  regret  our  separation.  J  need  not  grieve  for 
her  ;  and  tell  me,  am  I  not  right  in  concluding, 
that  it  is  true  wisdom  to  think  little  about  one- 
self, when  the  pursuit  of  one's  own  happiness 
must  in  this  world  end  in  disappointment  ?" 

"  You  are  right,  my  son,"  I  replied,  "  the 
less  we  think  of  ourselves,  the  happier  we  are 
even  here.  The  people  who  shine  and  prosper, 


106 

even  if  they  meet  no  fatal  reverses,  such  a5y 
yours,  wither  under  the  natural  change  of  life. 
Scarcely  do  we  reach  five  and  thirty,  but  a  few 
gray  hairs,  a  few  wrinkles,  are  able  to  make  the 
vainest  and  proudest  aghast ;  put  the  best  appear- 
ance on  it  they  can,  they  are  conscious  that  the 
enjoyment  of  life  is  worth  nothing.  It  is  this 
early  decay,  (and  wisely  was  it  intended,)  which 
brings  religion  home  to  the  heart,  and  will 
establish  it  there  as  long  as  mankind  lasts,  in 
spite  of  all  the  subtilty  of  the  infidel.  But  do 
not  let  your  worldly  ruin  chill  your  heart.  On 
the  contrary,  knowing  what  it  is  to  suffer,  exert 
yourself  to  diminish  the  evil,  that  besets  the 
children  of  men.  This  is  God's  purpose  in 
all  his  wonderful  efforts  ;  aspire  to  be  an  auxi- 
liary under  his  command  ;  need  I  say,  warm 
your  children's  hearts  to  assist  those  who  suffer, 
fortify  their  minds  to  bear  what  sufferings  may 
befal  themselves,  arid  protect  them  from  all  the 
ills  you  are  able," 

"  Protect  them  !"  replied  Maurice  ;  "  oh, 
father,  I  live  only  to  make  this  atonement  to 
their  angel  mother. — Might  I  but  die  for  them, 
perhaps  I  might  meet  her  again  without  shame. 
JDo  you  not  remember,  when  all  the  people 
said  I  was  such  a  good  husband,  she  thought  me 
so  too,  and  so  did  I  myself;  what  a  cloud  is 
removed  from  my  judgment !  how  clearly  I  see 
now,  that  to  that  tender,  gentle,  and  feeling 
spirit,  all  my  usage  was  rude  and  unkind,  and 
every  word  I  uttered  almost  a  wrong !" 

I  did  my  best  to  support  Maurice,  though  1 
was  heartstricken  myself;  for  Berghetta's  na 


107 

lure  seemed  so  much  to  invite  affection,  and 
having  no  vanity  or  selfishness  that  ever  repell- 
ed one,  no  one  knew  her  but  loved  her,  and 
there  was  no  death  ever  occasioned  so  much 
sincere  regret  in  my  parish. 

Our  journey  had  been  melancholy  coming,  it 
was  wretched  returning.  Poor  Maurice  had 
still  to  return  to  his  lonely  home,  but  after  hav- 
ing surmounted  the  great  blow,  he  had  too 
vigorous  a  mind  to  be  overcome  by  localities. 
The  duties  of  my  parish,  so  long  neglected,  call- 
ed me  away  from  him  ;  but  when  I  was  able 
to  go  to  see  him,  for  he  could  not  stir  on  ac- 
count of  the  children,  I  was  well  satisfied  with 
him. 

As  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned,  he  seem- 
ed to  have  forgotten  that  a  world  existed,  looking 
only  to  Heaven ;  and  this  gave  him  a  greater 
air  of  quiet  and  contentment  than  I  had  ever 
seen  him  wear  before. — Whenever  opportunity 
occurred,  he  exerted  himself  to  lighten  other 
people's  ills,  but  they  no  longer  surprised  him  ; 
he  looked  confidently  to  God,  certain  that  in 
the  end  all  evil  would  be  overcome.  His  great 
difficulty  now  was,  that  he  had  no  female  rela- 
tive to  take  care  of  his  children  ;  he  was  loth 
to  recal  Una  from  a  genteel  station  to  his 
melancholy  cabin,  nor  could  he  bear  to  place 
them  where  they  might  acquire  low  or  vicious 
habits.  He  felt  a  pleasure  in  the  trouble  they 
gave  him,  and  a  kind  of  acquittance  to  Berghet- 
ta's  memory,  and  determined  to  rear  them  him- 
self. But  to  do  this,  he  was  obliged  to  abandon 
all  his  industry,  and  to  live  entirely  upon  his 
"ormer  earnings. 


108 

I  found  he  had  entirely  altered  his  mode  of 
living,  his  diet  being  only  potatoes,  a  little  salt, 
and  water. 

I  remonstrated  with  him  on  this,  but  he  said 
now  that  he  did  no  work,  there  was  no  occa- 
sion for  his  living  better  ;  that  it  would  be  four 
or  five  years  before  his  children  could  go  out 
with  him,  and  during  that  time  he  must  depend 
upon  his  little  fund  of  savings,  and  yet  stint  his 
children  in  nothing.  He  was  right,  for  the  late 
sad  mishaps  had  made  away  with  much  of  his 
money,  and  he  thought  best  to  sell  the  interest 
in  his  farm  till  his  son  came  of  age,  that  he 
might  be  certain  to  have  all  things  convenient 
for  his  children. 

In  this  kind  of  repose,  where  hope  at  last  is 
patient,  time  flies  quickly.  Maurice's  children, 
endowed  by  nature  with  their  mother's  excel- 
lent judgment  and  soft  heart,  seemed  only  to  re- 
quire time  to  unfold  every  good  quality ;  put 
them  out  of  question,  and  there  was  but  one 
event,  that  could  powerfully  stir  Maurice's  soul, 
and  that  was  the  arrival  of  James  Hi  Sullivan. 
The  kindness  he  had  received  from  him,  when 
he  was  so  much  his  inferior,  never  ceased  to  fill 
his  eyes  with  tears,  when  any  chance  brought 
it  strongly  to  his  mind  ;  and  he  would  dwell 
with  delight  on  all  his  noble  qualities. 

Yet  years  passed  away,  and  O'Sullivan  could 
get  no  opportunity  to  leave  his  regiment  for 
sufficient  length  of  time  to  come  to  .Ireland; 
though  he  had  been  able  to  go  several  times  to 
Paris,  where  he  had  introduced  himself  to  Una. 


109 

and,  as  might  easily  have  been  foreseen,  they 
were  taken  with  each  Bother.  Yet  Maurice 
was  not  rejoiced  at  this,  he  saw  no  likelihood 
of  their  marrying,  without  involving  Hi  Sullivan 
in  want ;  and  he  thought  that  he  perceived  in 
O'Sullivan's  letters  something  too  romanesque 
in  their  attachment. — "  Look,"  said  he  to  me, 
"  does  not  this  seem  as  if  it  were  the  moist  and 
fickle  impression  of  eyesight  ?  alas  !  I  cannot  be 
mistaken  in  the  signs  of  that  faithful  love,  which 
is  built  upon  worthiness,  and  which  neither 
time  nor  death  can  weaken  or  extinguish." 

Maurice  spoke  as  he  felt ;  for  though  religion, 
like  the  clear  Heaven,  is  without  clouds,  still 
nature  shows  the  devastation  of  the  storm  that 
has  passed  by ;  and  though  his  purified  spirit 
had  shaken  off  a  load  of  earthly  care,  like  the 
palm-tree  striving  most  upwards  the  more  it  is 
burdened,  yet,  even  though  years  were  past, 
his  days  were  spent  in  thought,  and  in  sadness 
his  nights. 

Maurice  would  not  say  so,  but  I  guessed  he 
imagined,  that  Una  might  be  more  captivating, 
than  humbly  pious.  Father  Dupre  had  indeed 
complained  of  a  tendency  he  had  observed  in 
her  to  coquetry,  but  the  sincerity  of  her  love 
for  Hi  Sullivan  had  entirely  cured  her  of  this 
fault. 

Another  year  sped  on,  it  was  the  fifth  since 
Berghetta's  death,  when  Maurice  came  to  pay 
me  a  visit,  bringing  his  darling  children.  I 
felicitated  him  on  recovering  his  robustness  and 
hale  looks.  He  told  me,  that  he  had  now 
10 


110 

resumed  his  labour,  as  one  of  his  sons  was  able 
to  accompany  him,  while  the  other  remained 
at  home  with  his  sister  5  "  and  they  are  so  intel- 
ligent," he  said,  "and  thoughtful,  that  I  can 
trust  them  by  themselves  with  perfect  security  ; 
they  never  leave  the  house,  or  open  the  door, 
till  I  return,  but  employ  themselves  in  many 
little  works,  and  learning  their  lessons  for  the 
evening.  You  cannot  imagine  what  good  la- 
bourers the  boys  are,  and  my  little  girl  is  very 
ingenious.  I  have  long  promised  them,  as  the 
greatest  reward  I  could  give  for  their  being  so 
good,  that  they  should  come  and  help  to  set 
your  nouse  and  garden  to  rights  ;  it  is  gone 
sadly  to  ruin,  and  we  must  not  have  any  thing 
look  melancholy  against  our  dearest  O'Suilivan 
and  Una  return." 

He  had  received  a  letter  from  O'Sullivan, 
telling  him  of  his  wish,  which  we  considered 
the  same  as  an  intention  of  quitting  the  army, 
and  returning  to  Ireland,  as  Una  had  consented 
to  do  so,  and  leading  the  same  life  as  Maurice 
had  done.  "  Can  I  follow  a  better  example  ?" 
concluded  O'Sullivan,  "  and  have  not  I  legs 
and  arms  as  you  have  ?" 

Maurice  showed  me  his  answer.  It  began, — 
"  I  joy  in  your  friendship,  but  I  joy  more  in 
your  good  ;"  and  earnestly  dissuaded  him  from 
coming.  He  argued,  that  early  habits  of  labour 
were  necessary  to  make  a  life  of  labour  palat- 
able, and  that  the  severe  exertion,  in  which  he 
found  a  pleasure,  would  be  intolerable  and  dis- 
gusting to  O'Sullivan. 


Ill 

i:  But,"  he  continued,  "  I  am  certain  he  will 
come,  for  his  will  has  hecome  self-indulgent, 
from  the  deference  so  long  paid  to  him  by  all, 
and  he  does  not  yet  know  how  to  stoop  to  the 
little  necessities  of  life. 

"  He  now  meets  abroad  Irishmen  of  nearly 
his  own  rank,  who  have  been  driven  from  this 
country,  and  are  like  circumstanced  with  him- 
self; and  by  his  own  account  his  rank  is  ac- 
knowledged by  all  the  foreign  courts  :  this  alone 
must  be  very  grateful,  and  he  has  as  good  a 
chance  as  the  many  other  Irishmen,  that  have 
risen  to  the  first  military  situations  in  France 
and  Germany.  Even  if  he  could  be  contented 
himself,  he  will  not  be  able  to  endure  to  see 
Una  a  mere  cottage  housewife  ;  and  I  am  cer- 
tain she  would,  in  time,  regret  her  situation." 

I  commended  Maurice's  counsel,  and  indeed 
it  was  so  discernible,  that  O'Sullivan's  best 
hope  of  a  fortunate  marriage  with  Una  was  by 
attaching  himself  to  his  regiment,  that  I  trusted 
it  would  prevail. 

"  What  makes  me  more  anxious  about  Una," 
said  Maurice,  after  meditating  a  while,  "  is,  that 
I  have  now  no  means  of  assisting  her  or  my 
friend,  if  they  should  need  it.  These  children 
revive  in  my  breast  again  the  wish  to  make  a 
competency ;  for  to  be  in  want  leads,  I  think, 
to  every  evil,  and  I  would  willingly  shield  them 
from  the  risks  I  have  run  myself.  Would  you 
believe  it,  and  it  is  with  astonishment  I  feel  it 
myself,  that  I  am  often  very  happy  ?  These 
sweet  companions  of  mine  never  give  me  a 


112 

mfcrneiit's  trouble,  and  are  so  soothing  and 
caressing,  that  I  sometimes  think  not  many  are 
more"  blessed." 

In  truth  these  children  were  quite  extraor* 
dinary ;  for  their  talk,  though  innocent,  was 
quite  serious  and  reflective  ;  while  not  a  sign  of 
impatience,  envy,  or  humour,  ever  appeared  in 
their  dispositions  ;  and  all  three  were  so  entirely 
gentle  in  their  voices,  looks,  and  manners,  that 
they  seemed  to  bring  a  sweet  stillness  even 
where  care  and  sorrow  abided. 

It  was  th£  most  charming  sight,  to  see  the 
comportment  of  the  lads  to  their  sister ;  when 
she  wras  not  by,  they  were  always  hand  in  hand, 
and  seemed  to  grow  together ;  but  when  she 
was  present,  they  seemed  to  forget  each  other, 
and  to  have  no  wish  or  business  but  to  attend 
to  her — all  their  play  and  employment  was 
about  her,  and  this,  with  the  excessive  anxious- 
ness  of  her  father  about  her,  would  have  spoiled 
any  other  little  head  ;  but  she  early  proved 
herself  her  mother's  child,  for  her  heart  was 
always  too  full  of  nature  and  affection,  to  leave 
any  space  for  vanity. 

Maurice  was  preparing  to  return,  when  one 
evening  we  perceived  a  vessel  Rearing  the 
island,  and  when  she  approached,  she  lay  too, 
and  fired  a  shot.  Maurice  divined,  that  Hi 
Sullivan  was  on  board,  and  running  down  the 
rock,  put  oif  in  a  small  boat,  and  setting  a  sail, 
made  for  the  ship.  It  was  as  he  guessed.  In 
half  an  hour  he  returned  with  James  Hi  Sulli- 
van, Una,  and  Rory.  Poor  Maurice  looked. 


113 

pale  and  aghast,  for  the  idea  of  what  he  had 
suffered  since  they  parted  mastered  all  the 
pleasure  he  received  from  the  return  of  his  dear 
friend  ;  but  he  hung  over  Una  with  tenderness, 
while  Rory  wept  aloud,  as  he  clasped  the  three 
children  in  his  arms. 

The  next  morning  we  met  in  better  spirits. 
Hi  Sullivan  and  Maurice  had  been  early  abroad, 
to  impart  the  several  vicissitudes  that  had  hap- 
pened to  each  since  they  were  separated ;  I, 
meanwhile,  questioned  Rory  :  breakfast  was 
ready  by  the  time  they  returned,  but  Una  had 
not  come  down,  as  the  children  detained  her, 
with  whom  she  was  quite  captivated. 

When  she  appeared,  Maurice  and  I  exchang- 
ed looks  of  admiration  ;  we  had  thought  her 
beautiful  the  evening  before,  though  then  she 
was  fatigued  and  in  a  muffled  and  disordered 
dress.  But  now  she  appeared  in  all  the  beau- 
ty of  dress,  colour,  and  feature  ;  uniting  the 
dark  hair,  eyes,  and  brow  of  the  continent, 
with  the  pure  complexion  of  her  native  coun- 
try ;  while  her  manners  and  gesture  had  the 
ease  and  polish  of  the  French  court.  She  led 
her  little  niece,  Geraldine,  in  her  hand,  whose 
flaxen  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  scarcely  tinged 
cheeks,  were  in  perfect  contrast.  "  Dear  bro- 
ther," said  Una,  u  I  have  been  trying  to  seduce 
my  pretty  niece  to  leave  you,  and  live  with  me ; 
but  she  has  a  constant  little  heart,  and  though 
she  owns  she  loves  me  very  much,  she  says  she 
will  not  leave  you  for  a  day." 

I  was  much  pleased  with  Una  for  the  affec- 


114 

lion  she  already  showed  the  children,  and  for 
the  constant  deference  arid  respect  she  paid  her 
brother.  Nor  could  one  be  surprised,  that  Hi 
Sullivan  was  imprudent  with  such  temptation, 
though  he  was  really  more  so  than  we  even 
imagined. 

When  the  first  delight  of  meeting  had  sub- 
sided, I  perceived  a  constraint  in  Hi  Sullivan's 
manner.  He  and  Una  separated  themselves, 
as  it  were,  from  us,  which  Maurice  did  not  ob- 
serve, as  it  was  natural ;  but  I  thought  I  per- 
ceived something  at  the  bottom  more  than 
mutual  love,  there  was  a  sudden  silence  if  inter- 
rupted, and  an  anxiety  lest  they  should  be  over- 
heard, that  told  me  there  was  some  mystery  in 
the  ca&e.  T  thought  I  should  be  informed  in 
the  usual  course  of  their  religious  duties,  but 
what  shocked  me  much  was,  that  they  avoided 
every  occasion  of  opening  their  minds  to  me  in 
Christian  conlidence. 

I  at  length  imparted  my  doubts  to  Maurice, 
but  he  made  light  of  them,  saying  he  had  such 
confidence  in  the  nobleness  and  openness  of  Hi 
Sullivan,  that  either  there  was  nothing  to  be 
known,  or  he  should  be  made  acquainted  with 
it  before  many  days  past. 

It  was  not  many  days  before  Maurice  came 
to  me  in  the  deepest  sorrow  : — "  I  know  this 
fatal  secret,"  be  said,  "  Hi  Sullivan  began  to 
sound  me  on  the  subject ;  and  a  word  was 
enough  to  discover  to  rne  what  was  passing  :  be 
ceuld  not  evade  my  questions ;  and  I  know  it 
all;  and  O!  I  foresee  too  plainly  where  it  will 


J15 

end."     He  clasped  his  hands  in  extreme  dis- 
tress. 

"  It  seems,"  he  continued,  "  that  peace  has 
taken  place,  and  in  consequence  a  number  of 
regiments  have  been  disbanded,  and  a  great 
many  Irish  officers,  but  not  Hi  Sullivan,  were 
discharged.  These,  from  idleness,  and  des- 
perate fortune,  have  formed  a  plan  to  excite 
the  low  people  here,  and  put  themselves  at  the 
head  of  them.  I,  who  know  this  people,  how 
easy  it  is  to  inflame  them,  but  how  difficult  to 
direct  them,  or  keep  them  steady  to  any  pur- 
pose, can  see  the  danger  and  desperation  of  the 
enterprise  ;  but  it  has  charms  for  Hi  Sullivan, 
that  inflame  all  the  noble  yet  unreflecting  pas- 
sions of  his  soul.  Already  he  has  left  an  hon- 
ourable profession  ;  already  he  has  embarked 
Una  in  this  enterprise  of  peril.  She  left  Lady 
McCartney,  and  left  her  in  displeasure  :  surely 
this  was  being  too  headstrong.  Though  she 
might  trust  herself  to  Hi  Sullivan's  protection 
as  safely  as  to  mine,  yet,  when  Lady  M'Cart- 
ney  objected  as  she  did,  Una  ought  not  to  have 
accompanied  him.  Una  too  is  impatient,  when 
she  perceives  1  do  not  approve  of  the  step  she 
has  taken ;  and  already  this  evil  has  taken 
place,  that  our  mutual  confidence  is  diminished. 

"  Hi  Sullivan  has  pressed  me  to  join  in  their 
projects,  and  has  offered  me  titles  and  com- 
mands. I  have  told  him,  that  where  he  is 
implicated,  it  is  not  possible  but  I  must  be 
drawn  in  :  but  that  I  never  will  conceal  my 
conviction,  that  the  whole  enterprise  is  wild 
and  impracticable.  I  urge  iii  vain  to  him,  that 


116 

he  had  a  clear  and  honourable  destiny  to  fulfil, 
sufficient  for  his  interest,  his  happiness,  and 
glory  :  and  his  reply  to  me  is,  that  the  sea  of 
glory  has  no  hanks  :  s.o  that  we  are  cast  upon 
an  uncertain  and  dark  project,  that  must  end  in 
failure,  and  perhaps  ruin." 

"  This  is  a  sad  narrative,"  I  replied,  "  but 
has  not  Una  any  influence,  to  stay  this  from 
going  farther  ?" 

•"  Oh,  no,  Una  is  equally  exalted  ;  she  has 
suffered  from  the  pride  of  the  great,  and,  over- 
weening herself,  she  gives  her  whole  soul  to 
rise  above  them,  or  pull  them  down." 

"  And  has  he  told  you  all  their  plans  ?" 

"  All ;  and  none  of  them  have  any  show  of 
consistency,  or  of  means  equal  to  their  aim." 

As  I  deemed  there  was  nothing  like  matter 
of  fact  to  effect  the  cure  of  these  fantasies,  I 
did  not  lend  mjself  much  to  oppose  Hi  Sulli- 
van ;  and  Maurice,  from  a  dread  of  appearing 
to  separate  himself  in  the  least  degree  from  his 
interests  and  affection,  when  once  he  had  given 
his  opinion,  said  no  more,  but  seemed  to  yield 
himself  to  Hi  Sullivan's  guidance.  And  Hi 
Sullivan,  seeing  things  near  appear  under  a  dif- 
ferent aspect  from  what  they  did  at  a  distance, 
might  have  abandoned  the  design,  but  for  the 
engagements  he  had  assented  to  on  the  conti- 
nent. One  of  these,  arid  indeed  the  most  fea- 
sible part  of  the  scheme,  was,  for  Hi  Sullivan  to 
go  to  Berehaven,  and  try  in  what  force  the  clan 
of  the  Sullivans  could  be  gathered. 


117 

On  Sunday,  Hi  Sullivan  appeared  in  his  dress 
uniform,  all  glitter,  all  in  gold  ;  and  he  looked 
so  princely  and  gorgeous,  that  while  Maurice 
looked  on  him  with  delight,  he  said  to  me, — 
"  How  can  we  wonder,  or  hlame  him  for  aspir- 
ing high,  when  he  seems  formed  for  rank  and 
station  ?  there  is  nothing  left  but  to  share  his 
danger,  and  guard  him  from  it  if  possible." 

The  time  of  this  ill-fated  expedition  arrived. 
Hi  SulSivan  was  in  such  buoyant  spirits,  that  he 
seemed  to  charm  away  foresight  and  apprehen- 
sion :  and  on  his  promising,  that,  if  1  would  ac- 
company him,  just  to  perform  a  mass  for  his 
father's  repose,  he  would  engage  in  no  enter- 
prise of  danger,  I  trusted  that  for  the  present 
there  was  none.  Nothing  could  be  more  out 
of  season  for  Maurice,  particularly  as  Una  was 
resolute  to  accompany  Hi  Sullivan.  Maurice 
had  to  part  from  his  children  for  the  first  time  ; 
and  he  could  do  no  better  than  leave  them  un- 
der Rory's  care,  who  had  become  so  much 
attached  to  them,  that  he  readily  consented  to 
stay  behind  to  tend  them  ;  particularly  as  he 
said  he  could  not  now  abide  the  sight  of  the  old 
castle  of  Berehaven. 

Hi  Sullivan  could  not  be  happy  unless  Mau- 
rice confederated  with  him ;  and  he  relied  up- 
on the  influence  he  had  over  him,  to  lead  him 
by  degrees  to  join  hand  and  heart  with  him, 
wilfully  assured,  that  he  should  exalt  his  friend 
as  well  as  himself. 

What  money  O'Sullivan  had  saved  he  devot- 
ed to  making  a  handsome  appearance  on  his 


118 

return  to  his  ancient  possessions ;  rightly  judg- 
ing, that  his  influence  over  his  sept,  would  he 
increased  by  a  prosperous  appearance.  He 
likewise  determined  to  sell  part  of  his  regalia, 
a  broach  studded  with  emeralds  ;  saying  that 
for  such  a  purpose  he  well  knew  his  father 
would  have  wished  him  to  part  with  it.  All 
this  was  negotiated  in  Dublin,  and  with  good 
success,  and  Hi  Sullivan  provided  himself  an 
equipage,  that  was  sufficiently  costly. 

We  proceeded  without  any  interruption  to 
Cork;  and  Maurice  found  out  the  good-na- 
tured undertaker,  who  readily  consented,  when 
he  found  he  was  an  acquaintance  of  Rory's,  to 
lend  him  Don  for  some  days,  that  he  might  go 
on  before,  and  prepare  accommodation  for  Hi 
Sullivan  and  Una  at  one  of  the  tenants5  houses. 

When  he  arrived  at  Berehaven,  and  it  be- 
came known,  that  Hi  Sullivan  was  returning, 
distinguished  by  glory  gained  in  foreign  service, 
the  whole  sept  was  in  commotion.  There  was 
an  end  to  all  work  and  business.  They  col- 
lected in  groupes,  every  one  asking  questions, 
and  living  upon  surmises  and  expectations. 
Happy  were  they  who  could  get  near  to  Maurice, 
and  make  him  repeat  over  and  over  again  the 
tidings  of  their  beloved  chieftain. 

Last  among  the  rest  came  Merritt  M'Cor- 
mick ;  but  he  asked  no  questions,  but  waited 
sullenly,  as  if  to  see  what  reception  Maurice 
would  give  him.  Maurice  never  could  harbour 
ill  will,  and  grief  had  exceedingly  softened  his 
disposition ;  so  that  he  accosted  Merritt  with 


119 

his  early  wish  to  be  of  service  to  him.  He  was 
shocked  to  see  him  at  so  early  an  age  already 
decrepit,  and  though  it  was  natural  he  should 
have  taken  some  pains  with  his  appearance,  he 
was  dirty  and  ragged. 

Maurice  inquired  of  him  how  he  had  thriven 
under  the  new  owners  of  the  castle. 

"  Thrive  !"  said  Merritt,  "  why  as  that 
witch-elm  does  under  the  west  wind — nothing 
thrives  under  them ;  they  are  negers,  they  have 
racked  the  tenants,  and  they  have  brought  a 
mildew  and  murrain  with  them,  that  have  con- 
sumed what  they  have  left." 

"And  how  is  your  wife  ?" 

"  Dead. — She  let  the  two  children  burn 
themselves,  and  she  had  nature  enough  to  pine 
after  them  ;  she  got  a  stitch  one  night  the  rain 
come  in  on  her  bed,  and  died  of  it." 

"  And  is  your  mother  yet  alive  ?" 

"  O  yes,  her  stomach  is  burnt  up  with  whis- 
key, and  I  don't  believe  one  of  her  own  poison- 
ous stews  would  touch  it." 

The  day  that  Hi  Sullivan  left  Cork  for  Bere- 
haven,  the  whole  sept  poured  out  upon  the  road, 
and  we  were  met  by  the  multitude  long  before 
we  arrived. — The  press  stopped  us  entirely, 
nor  would  they  allow  us  to  proceed,  till  Hi 
Sullivan  showed  himself.  He  was  dressed  in 
full  uniform,  and  never  in  his  proudest  days  had 


120 

looked  more  resplendent.  Admiration  and  de- 
voted love  held  them  for  a  while  in  silence  and 
tears ;  and  then  a  universal  shout  rent  the  air. 
Every  fresh  groupe  detained  us  in  the  same 
manner,  and  those  who  had  been  followers  at 
the  castle  would  not  be  easy,  till  they  had 
kissed  Hi  Sullivan's  hand.  Una's  eyes  beamed 
delight,  to  see  Hi  Sullivan  still  so  great  in  the 
affection  of  his  people ;  and  she  herself  rosy  and 
radiant  soon  divided  their  admiration  with  him. 
But  all  this  made  us  very  late  in  arriving,  though 
Maurice's  care  had  made  every  thing  comforta- 
ble, and  nothing  was  wanting  on  the  part  of  the 
honoured  O' Sullivan,  in  whose  house  the  prince 
had  fixed  to  abide. 

Hi  Sullivan's  mind  was  feverish,  as  it  were  ; 
sometimes  depressed  by  the  scene  of  his  alter- 
ed fortunes,  sometimes  elevated  by  the  tri- 
umphs of  the  day.  Maurice  sat  lost  in  thought ; 
till  Hi  Sullivan,  observing  it,  asked  him  if  any 
thing  disagreeable  had  happened. 

"  No,"  said  Maurice,  "  on  the  contrary  every 
thing  favours  your  enterprise  beyond  all  proba- 
bility ;  look  out  of  the  window,  and  you  can 
see,  even  by  the  light  of  the  moon,  the  multitudes 
that  move  restless  backwards  and  forwards, 
drawn  from  all  parts  to  the  spot  where  you  are. 
I  am  convinced,  that  to-morrow  you  might  be 
at  the  head  of  ten  thousand  men,  but  what  are 
they  worth  without  arms,  discipline,  or  confi- 
dence ?  No,  I  was  thinking  of  Merritt  M'Cor- 
mick,  and  the  longer  I  think,  the  more  certain 
I  am,  that  he  has  obtained  intelligence  of  your 
plans.  He  hinted,  nay  even  proposed  it  all  to 


me,  with  such  assurance  of  approbation,  that  I 
saw  at  once  that  he  was  advised  of  it.  I  look- 
ed him  steadily  in  the  face,  and  he  coloured 
and  hung  down  his  head.  I  am  certain  he 
knows  it,  but  how  could  he  possibly  come  by 
that  knowledge.  O,  let  me  implore  you  not  to 
slight  my  conjectures  ;  there  is  but  one  way,  it 
has  been  told  to  too  many  confederates  in 
France  ;  some  of  them  have  been  indiscreet, 
government  has  obtained  intelligence  of  your 
designs  from  its  foreign  agents,  and  Merritt  is 
employed  as  a  spy  to  watch  your  coming.  There 
are  soldiers,  though  not  many,  quartered  at  Ban- 
try,  some  of  them  have  come  as  far  as  this, 
and  Merritt  is  acquainted  with  at  least  one  of 
them." 

Hi  Sullivan  laughed  at  Maurice's  conjec- 
tures ;  "  is  there  any  thing  so  wonderful,"  he 
said,  "  in  this  coincidence,  when  Merritt  only 
blurted  out  what  is  uppermost  in  every  Irish- 
man's head  ;  and  as  for  knowing  a  soldier,  does 
he  not  know  all  the  world,  at  least  all  the  idle 
world  ?  I  like  the  fellow  for  it,  and  will  forgive 
him,  call  him  up,  I  dare  say  he  is  not  far  off,  and 
we  will  cross  examine  him." 

Maurice  went  out,  and  soon  found  him  among 
the  crowd  :  when  he  came  up,  it  was  astonish- 
ing with  what  impudence,  by  seeming  to  take 
it  for  granted  that  everything  was  forgot,  he  en- 
sured that  nothing  should  be  remembered.  To 
Hi  Sullivan's  inquiries  about  the  castle  he  an- 
swered with  such  bitter  and  violent  invectives 
against  its  present  inhabitants,  that  he  quite 
gained  on  Hi  Sullivan  ;  and  before  he  left  the 
11 


room  he  had  almost  taken  him  into  favour  again, 
Maurice  mean  while  from  a  distance  scrutinised 
him  attentively ;  arid  when  he  had  left  the  room, 
and  Hi  Sullivan  asked  Maurice  if  he  was  not 
now  convinced,  that  in  this  instance  he  wrong- 
ed Merritt  ;  he  replied,  "  by  no  means,  I  see 
that  he  hates  them,  but  I  am  not  convinced  that 
he  does  not  hate  you,  You  forget  that  I  am 
used  to  his  ways  from  childhood,  pray  then  do 
not  slight  my  opinion  of  him,  but  -be  on  your 
guard,  trust  him  in  nothing,  and  persevere  in  the 
assurance  you  have  given  father  O'Brien,  that 
you  will  do  nothing  rashly." 

Maurice  was  right  to  a  tittle,  and  it  shows 
how  great  his  penetration  was.  The  Irish  offi- 
cers, who  had  urged  Hi  Sullivan  on,  feeling 
perfectly  secure  in  Paris,  thought  little  of  his 
danger  in  Ireland,  and  indulged  in  venting  their 
resentments,  and  pampering  their  self  conceit 
by  indiscreet  confidences  of  their  projects,  and 
anticipations  of  their  success.  These  reached 
the  ears  of  English  agents,  who  were  too  much 
interested  not  to  exert  themselves  to  fathom  the 
whole  plot ;  they  had  notice  of  Hi  Sullivan's 
departure  for  Ireland,  and  his  intention  of  go- 
ing to  Berehaven.  The  Irish  government,  in- 
structed of  this,  sent  down  an  officer  without, 
who  employed  a  trusty  soldier  to  procure  a  na- 
tive of  the  country  to  give  him  notice  of  Hi  Sul- 
livan's coming,,  and  the  soldier,  meeting  Merritt 
at  a  public  house,  soon  discovered  that  he  was 
the  person  he  wanted. 

Merritt  had  not  a  feeling  about  country,  or 
who  ruled  and  reigned  ;  but  he  had  gone  from 


bad  to  worse,  under  the  English  comers,  and  he 
hated  them  with  all  the  narrow  bigotry  of  spite, 
because  they  were  strangers  and  English,  and 
earnestly  prayed  their  ruin ;  but  he  hated  Hi 
Sullivan  still  more,  never  forgiving  or  forget- 
ting the  lash  he  had  received  from  him.  And 
we  shall  see  how  this  miserable  instrument  was 
able  to  effect  the  ruin  of  both,  by  the  impru- 
dence of  Hi  Sullivan. 

Finding  himself  tolerated,  he  was  now  inde- 
fatigable in  throwing  himself  in  Hi  Sullivan's 
way  ;  he  bettered  his  dress,  he  whetted  his 
gibes  and  jokes,  yet  never  lost  an  opportunity 
of  inflaming  Hi  Sullivan  with  some  parable 
against  the  Dales,  the  present  possessors  of  the 
castle.  When  Hi  Sullivan  heard  of  his  poor 
tenantry  being  fleeced  and  flayed,  his  generous 
indiscretion  led  him  into  denunciations  and  im- 
precations against  them  ;  not  one  of  which  did 
Merritt  let  fall  to  earth,  but  repeated  them  with 
exacerbations  of  his  own  through  all  the  sept,  so 
that  these  poor  people,  who  might  have  been 
startled  at  seeking  revenge  for  their  own  inju- 
ries, were  seduced  with  the  show  of  duty,  mag- 
nanimity, and  self  devotion,  in  revenging  the 
wrongs  of  their  adored  chieftain. 


IJ6° 


Merritt's  manoeuvres  did  not  entirely  escape 
Maurice's  observation  ;  and  again  he  entreated 
Hi  Sullivan  not  to  confide  in  him  ;  "  from  the 
appearance  of  your  favour,  he  takes  upon  him- 
self with  the  people  more  than  is  to  your  hon- 
our. I  say  nothing  of  his  trying  to  render  me 
suspected  with  them,  as  that  may  be  from  old 
dislike,  as  well  as  from  knowing  how  I  am  bound 
to  you." 


124 

Una  was  inclined  to  take  Merritt's  part ;  she 
remembered  him  only  when  he  was  a  rosy  play- 
ful boy,  and  she  could  not  believe  him  so  old  in 
villainy. 

"  I  should  praise  your  good  nature,"  replied 
Maurice,  "  if  1  was  not  certain,  that  Hi  Sulli- 
van's dearest  interests  are  at  stake.  Ask  father 
O'Brien,  and  he,  I  am  sure,  will  not  think  my 
suspicions  of  Merritt  unreasonable," 

Indeed  I  did  not,  but  still,  with  that  idle  con- 
fidence which  is  founded  on  no  reason,  I  trus- 
ted that  no  evil  would  happen. 

But  Maurice,  restless  and  perturbed  on  O' 
Sullivan's  account,  resolved  to  go  to  Bantry,  and 
endeavour  to  discover  if  his  conjectures  were 
right  or  not. 

He  borrowed  a  good  plain  suit  of  Hi  Sulli- 
van, which,  as  they  were  both  of  a  size,  fitted 
him  well,  and  putting  powder  into  his  hair,  look- 
ed perfectly  genteel. 

"  These  walls  have  ears,"  he  said  to  Hi  Sul- 
livan with  a  smile,  yet  a  little  reproachfully, 
"  or  else  you  say  things  to  Merritt  better  left 
alone,  so  that  I  will  not  tell  you  where  I  am  go- 
ing to  day,  nor  yet  to  morrow  ;  but  to  day  I 
shall  be  back  by  dinner  time,  to  morrow  I  shall 
be  more  uncertain,  and  may  not  see  you  for 
some  days." 

"  You  are  not  only  a  zealous  friend,  but  a 
wise  one,"  §aid  Hi  Sullivan,  "  so  we  will  trust 


125 

you  implicitly.  But  indeed  I  hope  on  all  ac- 
counts, you  will  find  you  deem  too  severely  of 
Merritt,  who  seems  more  his  own  enemy  than 
any  one's  else." 

Maurice  shook  his  head,  and  departed  ;  and 
we  saw  no  more  of  him  till  the  dinner  hour  was 
some  time  past.  He  then  made  his  appear- 
ance, and  by  his  countenance  we  saw  that  he 
was  pleased.  "  I  am  just  come  from  the  castle," 
he  said,  a  you  all  look  surprised  ;  but  it  struck 
me,  that  the  commonalty  always  make  worse  of 
every  thing  than  it  really  is,  and  I  thought  it 
well  to  see  the  new  owner  of  the  castle  my- 
self, to  know  if  he  was  bad,  or  better  than  re- 
presented." 

"  I  found  him  an  elderly  little  man,  timid,  in- 
dolent, and  enervated,  and  so  careful  of  his  per- 
sonal ease  and  comforts,  that  he  dreaded  the 
least  trouble.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  1 
gained  admittance,  for  they  had  heard  of  your 
arrival,  and  were  alarmed  at  it,  and  I  found  the 
gate  carefully  barred.  The  servant  told  me,  a& 
he  led  me  along,  that  Mr.  Dale  had  married 
late  in  life  a  young  ignorant  woman,  whom  he 
seldom  allowed  to  go  out  of  the  castle.  They 
had  one  son,  a  sickly  lad.  But  Mr.  Dale,  though 
an  odd  man,  was  a  good  master. 

"  He  received  me  with  great  courtesy,  and 
without  much  preface  I  began  to  plead  for  your 
interests,  and  those  of  the  tenants.  He  heard 
me  with  patience,  arid  then  with  an  open  direct 
manner,  that  you  would  have  liked,  said,  that 
provided  you  assigned  to  him  all  your  title  in  the 
estates,  he  would  give  you  live  thousand  pounds*." 
11* 


126 

"  What,  sell  my  right,  my  birth  right,  and  lor 
such  a  paltry  sum  ?"  interrupted  Hi  Sullivan, 
"never !" 

"  Never,  1  hope,"  rejoined  Una. 

"But  hear  me  out,"  said  Maurice;  "he  ad- 
ded also,  and  it  is  a  generous  offer,  that  he 
would  make  a  long  lease  to  each  of  the  tenants 
at  the  present  rents,  and  would  forgive  all  ar- 
rears ;  but  seeing  by  my  manner,  how  anxious 
we  were  for  the  tenant's  interests,  he  added, 
with  the  cunning  of  a  timid  mind  (for  he  evident- 
ly has  be^n  terrified  by  your  arrival,)  that  he 
would  do  this  only  upon  condition  that  you 
agreed  to  his  former  proposal,  otherwise  he 
should  keep  the  tenants  as  dependant  as  possi- 
ble, as  the  best  security  for  his  personal  safety. 
And  now  pray  consider,  that  your  rights  will 
become,  like  so  many  of  those  of  our  unfortun- 
ate countrymen,  in  a  few  years  a  mere  legend  ; 
yet  even  so,  if  you  think  it  in  the  least  dishon- 
ourable, I  would  riot  ask  you  to  accept  his  offer ; 
but  if  you  sacrifice  to  this  vision  of  rights  the 
welfare  and  happiness  of  your  faithful  and  affec- 
tionate followers,  1  should  be  forced  to  say,  yet 
1  should  be  sorry  to  say,  (for  I  dread  the  chance 
of  your  thinking  that  I  am  averse  to  your  plans 
from  selfish  feelings,)  that  you  are  wrong." 

"  Dear  generous  Maurice,"  said  Hi  SullivaB, 
"  you  have  conquered,  as  indeed  you  always  de- 
serve to  do.  I  see,  that  I  have  been  a  little  be- 
wildered by  phantasies,  but  your  good  sense 
brings  me  back  to  the  sincere  and  unaustenta- 
tious  pursuit  of  what  is  right.  If  this  Mr.  Dale 


127 

performs  his  promise  to  the  sept,  I  will  accept 
his  offer,  and  confirm  his  title;  and  with  £5,000," 
he  added  smiling,  "  I  helieve  I  can  purchase  the 
whole  Isle  of  Rahery,  and  lord  it  again." 

"  Then  I  am  once  more  happy,"  said  Mau- 
rice. u  There  is  now  no  obstacle  to  your  wed- 
ding, you  will  have  all  that  is  necessary  for 
real  happiness,  and  may  easily  do  without  the 
vanity  of  show." 

"  But,"  said  Una,  "  is  there 'not  poverty  of 
spirit  in  taking  this  pittance  as  a  favour,  where 
the  whole  belongs  of  right  ?  You  yourself, 
Maurice,  said,  that  there  were  10,000  men 
ready  to  join  their  chieftain." 

Maurice  frowned.  "  There  are,"  he  replied, 
"  10,000  and  more,  and  yet  twenty  soldiers 
would  drive  this  multitude  before  them.  You 
know  that  I  am  right,"  continued  he,  turning  to 
Hi  Sullivan  ;  u  discipline  them,  give  them  good 
officers,  and  make  them  feel  themselves  soldiers, 
and  they  prove  themselves  the  best  soldiers 
in  the  world.  But  here  they  are  mere  helots, 
without  self-confidence  or  self-opinion,  and 
would  fly  before  the  appearance  of  the  autho- 
rity they  are  used  to  obey.  No,  dearest  Hi 
Sullivan,  you  will  not  retract,  for  your  generosi- 
ty will  have  more  power  over  you,  than  your  in- 
terests or  ambition." 

I  seconded  Maurice's  exhortations  with  all 
my  might  and  main  ;  Una  was  silent  and  did  not 
resist,  and  it  was  settled,  that  as  soon  as  the  ne- 
cessary arrangements  were  made  with  Mr. 


Dale,  we  should  return  again  to  Rahery.  It 
was  not  without  a  bitter  struggle,  that  Hi  Sulli- 
van could  agree  to  resign  rights  he  had  long 
been  taught  to  hold  sacred  ;  but  as  Maurice 
foresaw,  when  Hi  Sullivan  felt  that  he  was 
clearly  acting  for  his  poor  followers,  every  hour 
his  repugnance  lessened. 

Maurice  set  off  again,  betimes  in  the  morn- 
ing, for  Bantry,  in  a  small  skiff,  and  did  not  re- 
turn till  past  the  middle  of  the  night,  so  that  all 
were  retired  to  rest  except  myself  and  Hi  Sulli- 
van, who  had  conceived  some  fear  on  his 
account,  as  the  wind  had  suddenly  freshened. 
When  he  made  his  appearance,  he  spoke  short,, 
and  was  hurried. 

"  I  found,"  he  said,  "  the  troops,  indeed  at 
Bantry,  and  I  easily  became  acquainted  with  the 
officers,  as  they  took  me  for  an  Englishman  ; 
and  had  no  reserve. — It  is  all  true.  Merritt  is 
a  traitor,  and  the  smallest  imprudence  on  your 
part  will  cause  your  arrest.  They  only  heard 
of  your  arrival  last  night,  for  it  was  not  till 
then,  that  Merritt  was  able  to  get  to  them  unob- 
served." 

"  It  is  no  new  thing,"  said  Hi  Sullivan,  "  for 
me  to  owe  my  life  to  you,  Maurice,  but  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself,  my  stupidity,  and  having 
so  nearly  involved  all  my  friends  in  ruin  ;  but 
now  guide  me  as  you  choose,  I  should  be  in- 
deed a  fool  to  have  any  other  opinion  than 
yours." 

Maurice   had   walked  to  the  window,  from 


which  he  looked  attentively  :  suddenly  he  start- 
ed, and  cried  to  us,  "  look  here  !  See  if  there 
is  not  a  fire  at  the  castle.  I  saw  an  unusual 
light, there  as  1  came  along,  and  my  mind  mis- 
gave me." 

It  was,  indeed,  too  evidently  the  castle  in 
flames.  "  Oh,  now,"  said  Maurice,  "  dear  Hi 
Sullivan,  be  guided  by  me.  This  is  Merritt'g 
work,  and  the  least  error  may  be  your  ruin. 
Stir  not  from  this,  or  you  may  be  thought  to 
have  been  the  instigation.  Depend  upon  me 
to  do  all  that  can  be  done  to  save  this  wretched 
family." 

Maurice  sprang  away,  and,  taking  a  horse 
from  the  stable,  rode  full  speed  to  the  castle. 
Hi  Sullivan  at  once  perceiving  all  the  fatal  con- 
sequences, that  might  follow  from  his  imprudent 
confidence  in  Merritt,  fell  into  extreme  agita- 
tion, at  one  time  ready  to  follow  Maurice,  at 
another  determined  in  all  things  to  abide  by  his 
advice,  and  remain. 

When  I  had  persuaded  him  fully,  that  Mau- 
rice's temper  was  best  calculated  to  meet  the 
emergency,  I  walked  towards  the  castle  myself. 
It  was  plain  now,  that  the  massive  timbers  of  the 
castle  had  caught  fire,  for  the  whole  sky  was  il- 
lumined with  the  blaze.  Presently  the  flames 
might  be  seen  bursting  out  from  each  window, 
and  in  this  manner  the  castle  continued  for  a 
length  of  time  pouring  out  fire,  while  the  wind 
drove  along  the  flames  and  a  black,  heavy  cloud 
of  smoke. 

As  I  approached  the  whole  roof  sunk  in,  and 


130 

a  shout,  which  it  was  horrid  to  hear,  evinced 
that  the  whole  clan  surrounded  the  castle.- 

Maurice,  with  all  his  speed,   had   arrived  too 
late  ;  Merritt  was  there, 'the  fury  that  led  the  or- 
gies :  he  had  easily  incited  the  char-woman   to 
lay  fire  to  different  parts  of  the  castle,  and  hav- 
ing given  the  clan  notice,  and  well  inflamed  their 
minds  with  the   rage   of  vengeance,  they  had 
gathered  round  the  castle,  and  barricaded  the 
gate  and  every  exit  of  the  castle,   with  stones 
and  heavy  pieces  of  timber.     The  worst  had 
already  happened,  the   unfortunate  inhabitants 
of  the  castle  seemed  to  have    perished  ;    but 
Maurice's  attention  was  instantly  caught  by  the 
appearance  of  a  woman  and  a  boy  at  the   win- 
dow of  a  tower.     To  save  them  was  all  that  he 
could   do,  and  the  ivy  that  covered  the  walls 
made  it  just  possible.  .  He  attempted   to  climb 
the  angle  made  by  the  tower  with  the  wall.     He 
placed  his  back  [irmly   against    the  tower,  and 
making  his  footing  sure  either  in  the  ivy  or  cre- 
vices of  the  wall,  he  slowly   ascended.     The 
crowd,  who  had  been  hitherto  intent  only  on  de- 
struction, was  taken  with   the  magnanimity  of 
the  enterprise  ;  every  one  now  rushed  forward 
to  assist  him,  and  raised   poles   to  give  him  a 
firmer  rest.     He  asked   for  a    rope  ;  one   was 
handed  to   him  ;  and  well  used   to  scaling  his 
native  rocks,   he  soon  reached  the  top  of  the 
wall.     He  guessed  that  from  the  parapet  there 
was  a  door  to  the  tower,  nor  was  he  disappoint- 
ed ;  but  a  cloud  of  smoke,  that  proceeded  from 
it,  might  have  deterred  any  one  else  from  en- 
tering. He  ascended  the  narrow  stairs  in  haste, 
and  opened  the   door  at  the  head.     Here   he 


131 

found  a  female  in  a  state  of  distraction,  holding 
in  her  arms  a  boy,  who  was  stu  pitied  with  ter- 
ror. Maurice  Jost  not  an  instant,  but  fastening 
the  rope  to  a  heavy  bedstead,  took  the  boy  on 
his  back,  and  urging  him  to  keep  fast  hold,  de- 
scended from  the  window  by  the  rope,  and 
brought  him  safe  to  the  ground  ;  a  general 
shout  accompanied  his  success,  and  now  seve- 
ral young  men  darted  forward,  and  struggled  to 
sei/.e  the  rope  to  save  the  woman  ;  but  ail  gave 
way  when  Maurice  prepared  to  renew  his  en- 
terprise. But  he  had  not  ascended  twenty  feet, 
when  lire  and  smoke  burst  from  the  window, 
and  a  female  scream,  most  horrid  for  men  to 
hear,  told  the  fate  of  the  unhappy  woman  :  at 
the  same  time  the  rope  snapped,  and  Maurice 
fell  to  the  ground  severely  bruised,  and  the  short 
bone  of  his  left  arm  broken. 

He  was  raised  from  the  ground,  and  all  the 
crowd  gathered  round  him,  expressing  by  tears 
an*d  vociferations  their  anxiety  for  his  safety. 
But  he,  regardless  of  his  hurt,  cried  out,  "  O 
my  friends !  each  of  you  whose  heart  is  in 
its  right  place,  who  felt  for  the  woman,  this 
boy,  and  myself,  what  devil  has  incited  you  to 
this  deed  of  murder,  this  midnight,  cowardly, 
base  murder  ?  O  unworthy  of  the  name  of 
O'Sullivans,  of  those  great  men  who  met  their 
mortal  foes  face  to  face,  and  would  have  felled 
the  man  who  had  proposed  to  them  to  massacre 
old  men,  women,  and  boys.  No,  it  was  not  an 
O'Sullivan  who  devised  this  detestable  conspira- 
cy ;  tell  me  that  it  was  not,  or  Hi  Sullivan  will 
not  survive  the  grief  and  shame  of  this  atro- 
cious night." 


•c  It  was  Merritt  M'Cormick,"  cried  several 
voices  ;  "  he  set  us  on  ;  he  told  us,  that  Hi  Sul- 
livan approved  the  business,  but  did  not  like  to 
appear  in  it ;  he  himself  was  the  original  of  the 
whole.  He  told  us,  that  we  would  all  be  put 
out,  and  that  there  was  nothing  else  for  it." 

"  Oh  Liar  !  Murderer  !  Cowardly  Felon," 
cried  Maurice  to  Merritt,  who  had  advanced  to 
listen,  "  and  yet  you  know  not  half  his  villai- 
ny," (addressing  himself  again  to  the  crowd.) 
"  He  is  a  traitor  too  to  your  noble  Prince,  who 
befriended  him  and  his.  Judas  like,  he  has 
sold  him,  and  would  have  delivered  him  up  to 
the  officers  at  Bantry  to  morrow  ;  and  that  you 
may  understand  to  what  ruin  he  has  led  you, 
know  that  this  unhappy  stranger,  whose  destruc- 
tion he  has  accomplished,  had  agreed  to  give 
each  of  you  his  land,  and  to  forgive  all  debt 
and  arrears  under  which  you  lay." 

As  soon  as  they  heard  this,  dismay  and  com- 
punction seized  all  hearts,  and  execrations  arose 
on  all  sides  against  Merritt — and,  but  that  they 
had  already  too  much  cause  to  repent  the  haste 
of  their  violence,  his  life  would  scarcely  have 
been  safe. 

Every  one  was  now  anxious  to  repair  as 
much  of  the  mischief  as  possible,  but  it  was  too 
late.  Though  the  barricades  were  removed, 
the  fire  prevented  all  access  to  the  interior  of  the 
castle,  and,  as  it  turned  out,  the  work  of  de- 
struction was  complete. 

The  poor  boy  clung  to  Maurice,  observing 
with  terror  the  strange  faces  around  him,  yet 


133 

watching  every  thing  that  was  said.  As  soon  as  'I  • 
arrived,  I  exhorted  them  all  to  return  to  their 
homes,  forbearing  reproaches,  as  1  saw  they  were 
now  quite  aghast.  I  procured  a  car  to  carry 
home  the  boy  and  Maurice,  whose  arm  I  suc- 
ceeded in  setting  :  he  was  also  much  bruised ; 
but  the  horror  and  agony  of  his  mind  seemed 
to  make  him  insensible  to  pain  of  body. 

When  we  returned,  we  found  Hi  Sullivan  de- 
solate, and  Una,  who  had  risen,  not  much  less 
moved  :  Maurice  did  not  even  attempt  to  nar- 
rate these  atrocities,  but  sitting  down,  leaned 
his  face  on  the  table,  sighing  heavily.  But 
Hi  Sullivan  was  most  to  be  compassionated  : 
tortured  with  suspense,  he  w  asurgent  to  hear 
every  particular,  which  each  was  reluctant  to 
tell  him  :  and  when  he  knew  the  whole,  he 
gunk  under  the  remorse  and  shame  of  his  name 
having,  even  unintentionally,  incited  such  bar- 
barities, or  its  being  possibly  supposed,  that  he 
had  countenanced  them.  Then  the  situation 
of  Maurice  smote  him  to  the  heart ;  and  anon 
the  wretched  boy,  being  now  freed  from  terror, 
gave  way  to  cries  and  tears  for  the  nurse  he 
had  loved,  and  the  parents  he  depended  on. 
Hi  Sullivan  became  quite  frantic,  imploring 
death,  and  declaring  that  he  could  never  know 
a  happy  moment  unless  in  tearing  Merritt  limb 
from  limb. 

This  aroused  Maurice,  who  first  soothed  Hi 
Sullivan,  and  then  added,  that  when  the  horror 
of  this  night  had  subsided,  they  ought  to  rejoice, 
that  they  had  been  guiltless  of  being  confede- 
rate in  any  such  atrocity ;  whereas,  if  they  had 
12 


134 

gone  on  as  Hi  Sullivan  at  first  purposed,  it  was 
almost  impossible,  that  they  should  have  escap- 
ed sooner  or  later  having  been  the  direct  means 
of  like  atrocities.  Let  us  thank  God.  that  we 
are  thus  far  innocent,  submit  our  future  destinies 
to  his  guidance,  and  lay  aside  this  terrible  impa- 
tience under  our  lowly  yet  peaceful  state. 

Maurice  in  the  morning  was  unwell,  and  all 
unhappy  about  him,  but  most  so  Hi  Sullivan : 
even  the  poor  lad,  who  had  reason  to  curse  us 
all,  attached  himself  to  him,  and  did  not  leave 
his  side.  We  were  all  gloomy  and  silent,  for 
no  one  could  trust  himself  to  speak  on  the  sad 
subject,  that  was  uppermost  in  every  body's, 
thoughts. 

Two  sad  days  passed  in  this  manner ;  but  on 
the  third,  early  in  the  morning,  the  house  was 
surrounded  by  the  military,  and  an  officer  of  a 
hard  aspect  entered  the  house,  and  summoned 
all  the  inmates  before  him.  How  shall  I  write  ? 
— let  me,  at  least,  briefly  speak  the  tissue  of 
horrors  I  have  to  relate. 

It  was  misery  to  see  Hi  Sullivan's  superb  na- 
ture degraded  by  the  suspicion  of  such  crimin- 
ality ;  yet  upon  him  the  suspicion  of  course  fell ; 
his  arrival  being  too  recent,  not  to  appear  con- 
nected with  the  firing  of  the  castle.  Yet  it  was 
but  suspicion ;  and  the  pride  and  indignation  of 
his  manner  forced  a  conviction  of  his  inno- 
cence, even  upon  those  who  were  set  against 
him.  Maurice  was  cleared  by  the  testimony  of 
the  boy,  and  they  could  not  but  esteem  him  for 
his  conduct. 


135 


The  commanding  officer  finding  from  the  lad, 
that  he  had  seen,  and  could  recognise  some  of 
the  criminals,  took  him  with  him,  while  they 
proceeded  to  search  other  houses ;  and  with 
the  sagacity  of  a  person  versed  in  the  character 
of  the  lower  orders,  he  surmised  at  once,  that 
Merritt,  the  spy,  was  implicated.  He  proceed- 
ed directly  to  his  house,  and  young  Dale  at 
once  identified  him  as  the  principal  actor,  and 
the  person  whom  every  one  had  said  to  be  the 
mover  of  the  whole  atrocity. 

The  commandant  immediately  ordered  him 
into  arrest;  while  the  wretch,  base  as  cruel, 
threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and  shrieked  for 
mercy.  "  Mercy  you  shall  have,"  said  the 
officer,  p.yping  him  with  contempt  5  "  you  shall 
not  remain  long  trembling,  for  you  will  be  hung 
the  day  after  to  morrow.  So  says  the  new 
white-boy  act." 

Merritt  reiterated  his  screams. 

"  Peace,"  cried  the  officer,  "  and  speak  to 
the  purpose,  was  this  your  own  act,  did  no  su- 
perior move  you  too  it.  Do  you  know  nothing 
of  the  designs  of  this  Prince,  as  they  call  him, 
that  is  so  lately  come  amongst  you.  Do  not 
be  afraid  to  speak  the  truth,  I  will  protect  you 
from  the  vengeance  of  the  clan,  and  will  not 
see  you  a  sufferer.  Less  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  decide  Merritt  to  the  villainy.  The 
monster  resumed  all  his  natural  cunning  and 
plausibility,  and  immediately  invented  a  story  of 
Hi  Sullivan's  having  threatened  his  life,  unless 


130 

lie  went  to  all  the  sept,  and  brought  them  out 
to  burn  the  castle,  and  all  alive  in  it. 

"  I  thought  this  would  come  out  at  last,r 
cried  the  officer  •  "  back  to  the  house,  before 
this  hero  makes  off.  But  bring  that  fellow 
along  with  you." 

Thence  followed  the  arrest  of  Hi  Sullivan. 

He  was  guarded  that  night  to  a  small  town, 
and  notice  was  given,  that  he  would  be  tried  a 
week  hence  by  a  court  martial  at  the  same 
place — he  was  then  removed  to  Bantry,  and  all 
access  denied  to  him  and  M'Cormick,  who  also 
was  kept  for  safety  in  the  prison.  Maurice  and 
I  were  courageous  in  the  knowledge  of  Hi  Sul- 
livan's innocence,  but  Una  sank  under  her  ter- 

rors. 

At  last  this  week  of  anxi^sness  was  passed, 
and  we  had  again  the  pleasure  of  beholding  Hi 
Sullivan  bearing  himself  bravely ;  the  mock- 
ery of  a  trial  began.  Many  magistrates  attend- 
ed, some  had  known  Hi  Sullivan  in  his  hetter 
days,  but  these  turned  from  him  like  one  infect- 
ed. 

Merritt's  evidence  was  received,  and  gained 
colour,  from  what  was  now  divulged  by  the 
commandant,  of  the  intelligence  government 
had  received  of  the  conspiracy  in  France. — We 
now  pressed  forward  to  prove  an  alibi,  and  stat- 
ed in  the  clearest  manner  every  particular: 
but  our  sacred  oaths  were  disregarded ;  and  an 
old  magistrate,  whose  opinion?  seemed  to 


137 

the 'rest,  derided  us  to  our  faces  ;  this  was  all, 
said  he,  that  was  wanting  to  confirm  the  cer- 
tainty of  his  guilt,  I  never  knew  one  of  these 
O's  and  Mac's,  that  did  not  run  his  head  into 
a  halter  with  an  alibi. 

The  iniquitous  and  barbarous  sentence  wais* 
pronounced* 

Hi  Sullivan  looked  calmly  round  to  Maurice, 
and  said  in  Irish,  "  was  I  not  right !  ought  an 
Irishman  to  bow  to  the  oppression  of  these  Fir- 
bolgs  ?» 

But  Maurice  heard  him  not ;  the  colour  left 
his  face,  a  cold  sweat  stood  on  his  forehead, 
and  the  next  instant  he  sunk  senseless  on  the 
ground. 

The  shriek  that  rent  the  air,  when  the  news 
was  heard  outside,  was  lamentable  to  hear — 
those  of  the  clan  that  were  at  a  distance  under- 
stood it  well,  and  repeated  it,  and  so  it  was  car- 
ried on,  till  it  reached  the  ears  of  poor  Una. 

One  hope  still  remained  to  mock  us.  As 
soon  as  Merritt  M'Cormick's  mother  heard  of 
her  son's  conduct,  the  good  that  was  in  her  rose 
up  against  it ;  she  watched  an  opportunity  to 
speak  to  him,  but  could  get  none  till  the  trial 
was  over.  Then  throwing  herself  before  his 
way  as  he  passed  in  the  street  with  the  soldiers ; 
she  cried,  "  are  you  then  an  informer !  oh  Mer- 
ritt, that  I  should  live  to  hear  it. — I  heard  two 
men  who  were  passing  by  me  say,  '  that  M'Cor- 
mick  will  destroy  the  country,  he  is  a  perm> 
12* 


138 

cious  informer.' — I  was  stunned.  Did  you  ever 
hear  or  know  of  any  of  your  family  to  in- 
form before  yourself? — Why  did  you  not  act 
like  uncle  Brophy?  why  did  you  not  do  like 
those  white  boys,  that  died  honourably  at  Kil- 
mallock  ?  Was  it  to  save  your  life  ?  did  you 
ever  know  an  informer  let  long  to  live  ?  you 
have  brought  to  shame  your  children,  and  their 
great  grand  children;  how  are  they  to  show 
their  face  •  in  fair,  market,  or  assembly  ?  if  a 
man  be  a  thief  or  robber,  none  can  blame  him 
but  his  own  friends,  but  an  informer  leaves  an 
aching  heart  to  hundreds.  If  any  child  sees 
Dick  Burney  passing  by,  they  immediately  say 
*  ha !  ha  !  there  goes  Burney  the  cursed  infor- 
mer, bad  luck  betide  him !'  They  will  say  the 
same  of  you  forty  years  hence,  if  you  perish  not 
first. — You  have  destroyed  me  too,  I  can  show 
my  face  no  more  ;  you  have  disgraced  my  mo- 
ther's bones  in  the  ground. — Oh,  die,  Merritt, 
dear,  rather  than  dishonour  us  so  ;  die,  and 
take  my  blessing." 

"  What  is  it  you  would  have,"  said  Merritt, 
sullenly,  yet  staggered, — "  is  it  my  blood  you 
want." 

"  Oh  no  !  but  to  wipe  the  blood  off  your  soul. 
It  is  unbearable  to  hear  by  day  and  by  night 
the  cry  of  innocent  blood." 

"  Why  don't  you  go  on,"  said  Merritt,  more 
and  more  confounded,  to  the  soldiers,  "  she  is 
drunk,  or  raving." 

"  Are  you  going,"  cried  she,  raising  her  voice. 


139 

"  then  go  !"  she  fell  on  her  knees,  and  shaking 
her  withered  arms  above  her  head  ;  "  the  ven- 
geance of  my  motherly  curse  light  on  you !" 

"  Oh,  stop  her,"  cried  Merritt,  beside  him- 
self, "  will  none  of  you  stop  her ! — run  some  of 
you  to  the  court,  before  it  is  too  late,  tell  the 
gentlemen,  that  Hi  Sullivan  is  innocent  of  all 
act  and  part  in  this  business,  and  I,  since  I  must 
die,  the  sole  contriver." 

Numbers  rushed  forward  instantly  to  court, 
and  the  cry  on  all  sides  was  heard,  "  Hi  Sulli- 
van is  innocent,  the  informer  has  recanted." 
A  gleam  of  joy  broke  among  us,  but  quickly 
passed. 

"  If  we  could  make  the  sentence  more  se- 
vere," cried  the  commanding  officer,  "  we 
would  punish  this  double  villainy.  Here  they 
have  got  about  the  informer,  and  terrified  the 
poor  fellow  out  of  his  wits,  so  that  he  believes 
he  has  no  way  to  save  his  life,  but  to  perjure 
himself.  I  have  been  too  long  conversant  with 
the^e  gentlemen  white  boys,  to  be  the  dupe  of 
their  tricks." — All  the  other  officers  and  magis- 
trates said  the  same — and  Hi  Sullivan  was  sent 
to  the  guardhouse  under  a  double  guard  of  sol- 
diers, and  orders  given  to  secure  and  protect 
Merritt  M'Cormick. 

The  evening  before  that  on  which  he  was  to 
die,  by  his  own  desire,  I  married  him  to  Una. — 
She  was  cold  and  pale,  but  with  more  than  a 
woman's  fortitude  suppressed  every  expression 
of  loud  grief.  It  was  only  on  receiving  his  last 


140 

embrace,  that  her  strength  failed  her,  and  she 
was  obliged  to  be  carried  from  the  prison. 
M'Cormick's  mother  assisted,  for  she  waited 
there  on  Hi  Sullivan,  as  if  to  do  all  in  her 
power  to  recompense  him  for  the  ill  done  by 
her  son. 

This  night,  Maurice  collected  twenty  of  the 
stoutest  young  men  of  the  clan,  whose  courage 
he  could  depend  on,  and  were  well  armed  and 
mounted,  with  these  he  entered  the  town  in  the 
dead  of  the  night. — He  fixed  a  hand  grenado  to 
the  door  of  the  guardhouse,  where  Hi  Sullivan 
was  imprisoned,  and  burst  it  open.  He  called 
Hi  Sullivan  loudly,  who,  hearing  his  voice, 
started  up  ;  some  opposition  was  made  by  the 
soldiers,  and  Maurice  received  a  wound  in  the 
side  from  a  thrust  of  a  sword,  but  he  struck  his 
assailant  down,  and  his  companions  acquitted 
themselves  manfully.  Hi  Sullivan  was  speedily 
at  liberty,  and  mounted  on  a  fleet  horse  Mau- 
rice had  brought  for  him  ;  the  town  was  speed- 
ily in  consternation,  but  the  small  troop  left  it 
at  full  speed. 

,  "  Push  on,"  said  Maurice,  "  dearest  Hi  Sulli- 
van, wait  for  none  of  us,  you  will  find  a  stout 
boat  and  two  trusty  sailors,  take  this  purse  of 
money,  and  sail  for  France,  the  wind  is  feir." 

"  Maurice,"  said  Hi  Sullivan,  "  I  value  life  so 
little,  that  I  would  not,  to  save  it,  lose  the  plea- 
sure of  riding  with  you  ;  I  go  your  pace,  cost 
what  it  will." 

He  had  scarcely  spoke,  before  they  fell  in 


141 

with  a  large  body  of  men,  who  endeavoured  lo 
get  out  of  their  way,  but  were  so  thronged  it 
was  impossible.  It  turned  out  to  be  a  large 
body  of  the  clan,  who  were  soon  recognised  by 
their  friends  with  Maurice,  and  as  soon  as  they 
found  their  chieftain  was  safe  and  amongst 
them,  they  shouted  with  joy,  and  pressed  about 
him.  Maurice  was  impatient  of  the  delay,  but 
thinking  that  they  had  come  with  the  intent  of 
doing  what  he  had  done,  he  would  not  show  it ; 
however,  he  soon  found  that  the  possibility  of 
attacking  the  soldiers  had  never  entered  their 
heads,  they  were  merely  going  to  seize  Mer- 
ritt. — The  maid  of  the  house,  where  he  was 
placed,  was  sister  to  one  of  the  clan,  and  had 
promised  to  open  the  door. 

They  urged  Hi  Sullivan  to  turn  and  go  with 
them.  "  We  are  at  least  five  hundred  strong, 
they  said,  and  if  you  go  with  us  we  will  take 
the  whole  town."  Hi  Sullivan,  burning  for 
revenge,  readily  assented  ;  but  Maurice  urged 
him  to  pursue  his  flight,  and  strongly  represent- 
ed the  folly  of  his  running  any  risk  of  being  ta- 
ken, for  such  a  worthless  object  as  seizing  on 
Merritt. 

"  But  after  all,  is  not  this  the  safest  way," 
said  Hi  Sullivan,  "  if  I  dismiss  these  brave  fel- 
lows I  may  yet  be  caught ;  but  if  we  return  and 
take  the  town,  officers  and  soldiers,  the  country 
is  our  own,  and  we  may  retire  at  leisure. — Do 
not  ask  me  to  give  up  such  a  glorious  occasion, 
Maurice,  I  cannot  even  for  you." 

"  I  can  say  no  more,"  said  Maurice,  "  when 
it  is  a  .question  of  danger,  at  all  events  where 


142 

you  go  I  follow,  till  you  are  safe. — But  remem- 
ber the  claim  Una  has  on  you." 

They  now  returned  on  their  steps,  and  Hi 
Sullivan  directed,  that,  while  a  small  party  went 
to  seize  Merritt,  the  remainder  should  follow 
him  to  the  attack  of  *  small  stone  house,  where 
the  officers  and  about  thirty  soldiers  were  quar- 
tered. They  found  the  soldiers,  as  they  ex- 
pected, prepared  by  what  had  happened — wait- 
ing for  day  light  to  pursue  Hi  Sullivan,  as  their 
numbers  were  too  small  to  allow  of  their  dis- 
persing at  night.  As  soon  as  the  officers  per- 
ceived the  approach  of  Hi  Sullivan's  followers, 
they  ranged  their  soldiers  along  the  wall,  and 
awaited  the  attack. 

"  Lead  them   on,   without    stopping,"   said 

Maurice. 

"  No,"  said  Hi  Sullivan,  "  stay  till  we  send 
a  party  to  the  rear  to  prevent  any  escape." 

The  party  halted,  and  began  to  fire  at  ran- 
dom at  the  soldiers,  but  with  little  effect ;  the 
soldiers  returned  the  fire,  several  of  the  clan 
fell,  and  symptoms  of  confusion  appeared  among 
the  rest. 

"  Come  on,"  cried  Maurice,  and  he  rushed 
forward  with  Hi  Sullivan  ;  but  no  one  followed 
them.  The  commandant  ordered  his  soldiers 
to  charge,  which  they  did  valorously,  and  none 
were  left  to  encounter  them  but  Hi  Sullivan 
and  Maurice,  the  rest  turned  their  backs,  and 
dastardly  fled  ;  and  in  the  event  Hi  Sullivan 


143 

was  wounded  and  retaken,  and  Maurice  knock- 
ed down  by  a  blow  from  a  but-end  of  a  musket, 
left  for  dead  in  the  street. 

I  had  staid  till  late,  endeavouring  to  pour 
consolation  into  Una's  unheeding  ear,  and  then 
hurried  off,  that  I  might  part  no  more  from  Hi 
Sullivan  till  the  fatal  moment.  How  great  was 
my  joy,  when  I  heard  of  his  evasion !  only  to 
be  exceeded  by  my  bitter  disappointment,  when 
I  saw  him  dragged  back  by  the  enraged  soldiers, 
few  of  whom  but  had  received  a  wound,  either 
from  him  or  Maurice,  so  desperate  had  been 
their  resistance.  They  put  heavy  irons  upon 
his  hands  and  legs,  while  he,  disdaining  to  ex- 
postulate or  to  show  to  them  the  wounds  of  his 
heart,  stood  gazing  on  me  with  a  wild  and  for- 
lorn countenance. 

When  his  irons  were  fixed,  "  Now,  gentle* 
men,"  he  said,  "  I  believe  you  need  not  be 
afraid  to  leave  me  a  few  minutes  with  this  rev- 
erend priest ;  if  you  will  withdraw  to  the  door, 
as  my  time  is  short,  I  will  be  grateful  to  you." 
The  soldiers  left  us,  and  then  for  the  first  time 
he  burst  into  tears. 

I  endeavoured  to  sooth  him,  I  told  him  that 
Una's  fortitude  was  great. 

"Thank  God!  for  that,"  he  cried;  "But, 
oh!  my  father,  what  an  age  of  bitterness  do 
these  few  hours  I  have  to  live  appear,  for  I 
have  been  the  cause  of  Maurice's  death !" 

"  Oh  miserable  old  man  that  I  am !"  I  could 
not  avoid  crying. 


144 

"  Curse  me  not,  father,"  he  continued,  "  my 
heart  already  speaks  every  reproach  you  could 
make ;  why  did  I  tyrannise  over  Maurice's 
strong  affection,  and  force  him  from  his  secure 
and  peaceful  home  ?  why  did  I  ever  refuse  to 
be  guided  by  his  better  reason  ?  Even  at  the 
last,  if  I  had  been  persuaded  by  him,  we  should 
have  conquered.  Oh,  it  is  intolerable  !  but  go, 
father — he  fell  opposite  to  the  guard  house  ;  I 
have  no  hope,  I  will  have  none  ;  but  do  not 
leave  his  body  in  the  street."  He  threw  him- 
self along  the  floor,  and  I  hastened  to  see  if  any 
assistance  might  yet  be  afforded  to  Maurice. 

I  found  him  lying  senseless  in  the  middle  of 
the  street,  and  hearing  steps  near  me,  I  asked 
in  Irish,  knowing  that,  if  it  was  no  soldier,  it 
would  produce  confidence,  who  was  there.  I 
was  answered  by  a  female  ;  it  was  the  sister  of 
the  young  man  before  mentioned,  and  it  was 
she  that  betrayed  Merritt,  for  it  appeared,  that 
he  had  been  successfully  carried  off.  Hearing 
that  there  had  been  a  fight,  she  was  anxious 
about  her  brother,  and  had  come  abroad  to  ask 
news.  With  her  assistance  I  carried  Maurice 
to  the  house  of  an  old  woman,  who  was  a  well 
wisher  to  the  O'Sullivans.  Here  we  succeed- 
ed in  bringing  Maurice  to  himself;  yet  he  was 
now  in  a  dreadful  state,  being  wounded  in  sev- 
eral places,  but  most  severely  in  the  head.  I 
did  my  best,  with  dressings  and  bandages ;  but 
as  soon  as  he  heard  that  Hi  Sullivan  was  re- 
taken, he  prayed  to  die.  He  seemed  insen- 
sible to  his  own  state,  and  wished  to  have  gone 
immediately  to  Hi  Sullivan ;  but  I  entreated 
him  to  leave  me  with  Hi  Sullivan  the  night. 


145 

and  I  hastened  back  to  tell  him  that  Maurice 
was  alive. 

This  intelligence  restored  him  to  himself. 
"  I  have  now,"  said  he,  "  reconciled  myself  to 
my  fate,  except  one  particular,  the  opprobrious 
mamter  of  my  death.  I  have  requested  in  vain 
an  officer's  prerogative — to  be  shot." 

Fain  would  I  blot  the  remembrance  of  the 
coming  day  from  memory,  and  if  only  ordinary 
horror  attended  it,  I  would  leave  it  to  my  rea- 
der's imagination. 

I  wrapped  Maurice  in  my  cloak,  passing  him 
for  my  nephew,  and  an  ecclesiastic,  that  he 
might  be  conveyed  with  us,  for  he  was  unable 
to  sit  on  horseback.  Hi  Sullivan,  as  we  went^ 
held  one  of  his  hands  between  his,  and  seemed 
to  feel  more  for  his  situation  than  his  own. 

When  we  arrived  at  the  place,  which  was 
the  burnt  castle,  he  surveyed  the  gibbet  with 
little  change  of  countenance ;  but  not  so,  when, 
as  we  approached,  and  the  crowd  opened,  we 
saw  Una  dressed  in  black,  kneeling  at  the  foot 
of  the  gibbet,  and  embracing  it  with  her  arms. 

"  This  is  death,  indeed,"  cried  Hi  Sullivan, 
his  face  changing  to  pale  ;  "  and  I  must  make 
one  more  effort  with  these  barbarians."  Then, 
when  the  commandant  approached  to  lead  him 
to  execution,  he  pointed  to  Una,  and  again  urged 
his  entreaty,  that  the  soldiers  might  dispatch 
him ;  but  this  inexorable  man  contemptuously 
refused. 

13 


146 

"God  forgive  me,  then,"  said  Hi  Sullivan, 
"  for  having  abased  myself  to  these  oppressors 
of  my  country. — Farewell,  dearest  Maurice," 
he  added,  leaning  his  face  to  his,  "  love  my 
memory."  Then  lightly  springing  up,  before 
any  one  was  aware,  or  could  prevent  him,  he 
carried  a  phial  of  poison  to  his  lips,  and  drank 
it.  His  death  was  instant ;  but  the  command- 
ant disappointed,  as  it  were,  of  his  prey,  grew 
furious,  and  ordered  the  soldiers  to  hang  him 
up. 

"  Father  of  mercies !"  I  cried,  "  he  is  still 
convulsed,  respect  him  as  his  soul  passes  to 
eternity."  I  spoke  to  the  tempest  and  the 


rock. 


Hi  Sullivan,  as  I  afterwards  learnt,  when  he 
found  that  he  could  not  obtain  to  die  the  death 
of  a  soldier,  sent  for  Mrs.  M'Cormick,  ar-d, 
having  heard  of  her  skill  in  drugs,  entreated 
her  if  she  wished  to  compensate  him  for  the  ill 
her  son  had  done  him,  to  furnish  him  with  a 
potent  poison.  She  divining  in  her  wicked 
mind,  that  it  was  intended  for  his  enemies,  did 
not  hesitate,  but  boiled  water  hemlock  and  lau- 
rel to  a  strong  decoction,  and  gave  it  to  him, 
assuring  him,  that  a  few  drops  would  kill  more 
suddenly  than  a  knife  through  the  heart. 

I  now  endeavoured  to  remove  Maurice  and 
Una  from  these  horrors.  The  former  was  ea- 
sily done,  for  he  had  hitherto  struggled  with  his 
debility  b)  the  strong  working  of  his  mind,  but 
the  event  being  now  accomplished,  he  sunk  mo- 
tionless, though  not  deprived  of  sense,  and  was 
borne  away. 


147 

But  Una  had  prepared  herself  with  wonder- 
ful firmness,  and  disdaining  to  show  before  the 
vulgar  any  emotion  of  agony  or  love,  threw  her 
black  veil  over  the  body  of  her  husband,  and 
turning  to  some  of  the  clan,  who  pressed  roundj 
bid  them  bear  it  thence. 

^ 

But  the  English  commandant,  addressing  him- 
self to  the  magistrates,  said  that  the  Irish  were 
not  to  be  worked  on  by  the  fear  of  death  ;  the 
only  way  to  make  them  dread  it  was  to  give 
their  bodies  to  the  surgeon.  At  this  the  sur- 
rounding crowd,  who  had  hitherto  been  stunned, 
as  it  were,  by  grief  and  amazement,  uttered  a 
loud  scream,  and  the  soldiers,  whose  numbers 
had  been  considerably  increased,  mounted  their 


At  this  Una,  quitting  the  body,  over  which 
she  hung,  and  vehemently  agitated,  cried  out, 
"  Oh,  noble  Hi  Sullivan,  not  even  to  preserve 
these  precious  remains  will  your  wife  stoop  be- 
fore your  murderers.  I  see  them  not,  I  speak 
not  to  them  ;  but  Thou,  O  righteous  Heaven,55 
and  she  knelt  down,  "  save  us  at  length  from 
this  horrible  nation,  whose  thirst  for  our  blood 
so  many  years  of  carnage  cannot  quench." 

The  commandant  was  not  to  be  moved,  and 
turning  to  the  surgeon  of  the  regiment,  told  him 
to  see  his  intentions  executed,  as  he  valued  his 
place. 

The  soldiers  carried  off  the  body,  but  I,  re- 
garding the  surgeon,  though  a  man  of  an  iron 
aspect,  observed  tears  fall  dpwn  bis  cheeks. 


148 

1  approached  him,  when  the  soldiers  had  moved 
away,  and  prayed  him  to  allow  the  wife  of  Hi 
Sullivan  to  have  his  body. 

"  You  heard  the  orders  given  me,"  he  said, 
in  a  rough  voice,  "  I  can  do  nothing  ;  hut  can- 
not some  of  his  people,  who  are  so  successful 
in  breaking  doors,  break  mine,  and  take  it  away 
to  night  ?» 

I  took  the  hint,  and  having  noted  where  he 
lived,  the  same  night,  accompanied  by  Maurice, 
and  Una,  for  though  the  one  was  exhausted  by 
his  wounds,  and  the  other  by  grief  and  horror, 
yet  neither  would  abide  behind,  we  called  on 
some  of  the  clan  to  accompany  us,  sufficient  to 
give  an  appearance  of  force,  and  proceeded  to 
the  surgeon's  house.  We  found  him  ready  to 
receive  us.  He  delivered  to  us  Hi  Sullivan's 
corpse ;  and  when  he  found  Una  was  there, 
made  her  take  some  cordial ;  then,  directing  us 
to  break  the  casement,  that  he  might  be  justi- 
fied by  the  appearance  of  violence,  he  exhorted 
us  to  move  irom  the  country,  if  possible,  the 
same  night. 

For  this  Maurice  had  already  prepared  ;  and 
he  now  told  me,  that  he  should  be  obliged  to 
take  Merritt  with  us,  as  it  had  been  with  great 
difficulty  that  he  had  been  able  to  save  his  life, 
for  they  had  determined  to  hang  him  on  the 
gibbet,  destined  for  Hi  Sullivan,  and  if  he  was. 
left  behind,  he  certainly  would  be  killed.  Mer- 
ritt was  kept  concealed  in  the  chapel  in  the  Isl- 
and of  the  Dorsies  ;  and  thither  Maurice  directed 
the  body  of  Hi  Sullivan  to  be  conveyed,  t9  baft 


149 

fle  any  search  that  might  be  made  after  it. 
Maurice  again  sunk  exhausted,  for  his  wounds 
bled  afresh  from  the  exertions  he  had  made, 
and  his  arm,  which  I  was  obliged  to  set  again, 
gave  him  an  agony ;  yet  he  urged  our  depar- 
ture, and  Una  being  equally  impatient  of  delay, 
I  prepared  a  litter,  while  I  obliged  him  to  lie 
down  on  the  bed  and  try  to  sleep.  Una  too 
fell  into  a  broken  slumber  ;  but  when  I  came  to 
them  a  few  hours  after,  they  could  no  longer 
support  themselves,  and  were  obliged  to  yield 
to  my  instances,  to  repose  themselves  at  least 
till  the  following  morning. 

Yet  even  this  short  alleviation  was  denied, 
for  a  messenger  was  dispatched  to  me  from  the 
surgeon,  to  say  that  the  abduction  of  the  body 
was  known,  and  a  search  for  it  ordered. — So 
that  placing  Maurice  on  the  litter,  which  was 
nothing  better  than  a  bed  placed  upon  a  door, 
I  directed  him  to  be  carried  to  the  Island  of 
the  Dorsies,  whence  we  purposed  to  sail  with 
as  little  delay  as  possible.  The  young  lad  Dale 
would  not  remain  behind  :  terrified  at  the 
scenes  he  had  passed  through,  his  mind  never 
was  free  from  alarm,  except  when  he  was  by 
Maurice's  side.  The  kind  hearted  tenantry 
lent  us  every  assistance  in  their  power— but  we 
would  allow  only  a  few  to  accompany  us  to  the 
island,  for  their  grief  and  despondency  was 
equalled  only  by  their  rage  against  Merritt. 
How  harrowing  to  our  hearts  were  those  cries, 
which  were  uttered  by  the  parties  that  came  to 
take  a  last  look  at  the  wife  of  their  beloved 
chieftain !  but  when  we  put  from  the  shore — 
stillness  pervaded  the  whole  multitude,  most 
knelt  down  in  tears  and  silent  prayers. 


150 

Arrived  at  the  island,  our  host,  who  had  cou- 
veyed  the  body  thither,  came  to  tell  me  a  new 
event.  When  he  arrived  in  the  night,  the 
men,  to  whom  Maurice  had  entrusted  the  care 
and  protection  of  Merritt,  eager  to  punish  him 
in  any  way  short  of  his  death — placed  the  body 
of  Hi  Sullivan  in  the  little  cell  of  the  chapel  in 
which  Merritt  was  confined.  The  wretch,  as 
well  he  might,  was  struck  with  horror,  and  ut- 
tered a  loud  scream,  when  he  saw  by  the  light 
which  they  bore  the  deadly  features  of  Hi  Sul- 
livan ;  but  they,  deaf  to  his  cries  and  supplica- 
tions, left  him  in  the  dark,  and  closed  the 
entrance. — His  screams  continued  during  the 
night,  and  wrere  louder  and  wilder  when  they 
came  to  bring  him  his  food  in  the  morning,  but 
when  they  spoke  to  him,  they  found  him  a 
maniac.  Soon,  indeed,  he  became  quiet ;  but 
his  senses  were  gone,  and  his  countenance  was 
frightful  with  terror.  I  went  to  see  him,  but  to 
my  questions  he  would  make  no  answer,  pre- 
serving a  sullen  and  suspicious  look.  We  wait- 
ed till  the  approach  of  night,  that  we  might 
pass  to  sea  without  observation.  I  would  fain 
have  waited  another  day  on  Maurice's  account, 
but  he  would  run  no  risk  by  delay  ;  we  em- 
barked therefore,  and  surely  we  were  right 
patterns  of  wretches.  Una  alone,  like  majesty 
triumphing  over  misery,  seemed  superior  to  her 
fate.  She  would  gaze  awhile  on  the  beloved 
countenance  of  Hi  Sullivan,  which  seemed  pla- 
cid even  in  death,  and  then  cover  her  face  with 
her  veil,  turning  back  within  herself,  that  her  im- 
agination might  engrave  it  the  more  exactly  on 
her  memory. 


151 

Maurice,  unable  now  to  support  himself,  was 
laid  along  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  while  the 
affectionate  boy  supported  his  head  in  his  lap. 
Merritt.was  tractable  and  motionless,  hiding  his 
face  with  his  hands,  which  rested  on  his  knees, 
and  muttering  indistinctly  to  himself. 

The  darkness  was  propitious  to  us,  and  while 
the  gloomy  shades  of  that  sad  and  sable  night 
served  to  hide  our  miseries  from  ourselves,  they 
sheltered  us  from  pursuit. 

We  doubled  Cape  Missen  in  the  morning, 
and  were  driven  rapidly  along  by  a  high  wind. 
Had  we  been  less  wretched,  we  should  have 
suffered  more  from  the  inclemency  of  our  situa- 
tion, for  we  were  drenched  with  rain,  and  the 
waves  breaking  over  our  boat,  for  three  nights 
and  two  days,  at  the  end  of  which  time  we 
were  in  sight  of  the  port  of  Arklow,  where  I 
determined  to  put  in.  I  landed  first  myself, 
and  went  to  the  priest  of  the  town,  and  requir- 
ed his  assistance,  which  was  readily  and  kindly 
given,  and  I  had  soon  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
Una  and  Maurice  placed  in  bed,  and  provided 
with  every  comfort  they  stood  in  need  of.  They 
were  both  so  feeble  they  could  not  stand,  and 
iMaurice's  thoughts  wandered,  from  the  effect 
of  fever,  that  had  now  seized  on  him. 

The  next  morning  I  provided  for  the  decent  in- 
terment of  the  noble  Hi  Sullivan.  He,  the  last  of 
a  mighty  race,  was  borne  to  his  burial  unaccom- 
panied by  any  kindred.  We  laid  him  in  Kil- 
bride  cemetery,  the  most  ancient  and  sacred 
burying  ground  in  the  neighbourhood.  "  Fare- 
well," I  cried, "dear  and  generous  Hi  Sullivan! 


J52 

thy  faults  and  thy  misfortunes  arose  alike  from 
thy  being  born  in  this  country  devoted  to  evil. 
We  need  not  mourn  for  thee  here  laid  to  rest  ; 
earth  is  thy  bed,  and  not  thy  grave." 

Hither  the  young  should  come  to  learn  how 
quickly  falls  the  star  of  human  glory.  And 
many  a  one  I  have  since  sent  a  pilgrim  to  Kil- 
bride  churchyard.  Even  though  my  eyes  were 
dimmed  with  tears,  I  could  not  but  be  struck  with 
the  gorgeous  prospect  from  the  spot  where  I 
stood. — The  river  Ovoca,  dark  between  its 
mountain  banks  that  were  covered  to  the  sky 
with  eternal  oaks,  here  poured  its  flood  into  the 
glittering  sea.  To  the  right,  Shelton  Abbey, 
with  its  long  line  of  towers,  gave  sanctity  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scenery,  proclaiming  God  in  the 
most  superb  retreat  of  nature.  Thither  I  bent 
my  steps,  solacing  my  mind  with  the  reflection, 
that,  frail  as  all  good  and  beauty  were  here  be- 
low, they  were  sufficient  to  be  a  pledge,  that  a 
great  power  was  at  work  to  make  happiness 
perfect  hereafter.  It  was  now  long  since  the 
Abbey  had  resounded  with  the  solemn  offices, 
but  the  owners,  though  belonging  to  our  sepa- 
rated brethren,  respected  its  destination,  and 
preserved  it  in  repair.  An  ancient  man,  who 
had  the  care  of  it,  pointed  out  to  me  a  white 
flag  of  the  marble  pavement  of  the  Hall,  which 
was  stained.  He  said,  that,  when  King  James 
fled  from  Ireland,  this  was  the  last  house  he 
slept  in.  As  he  was  going  out,  a  few  drops  of 
blood  fell  from  his  nose,  which  stained  the  mar- 
ble, and  had  never  been  washed  out  since.  We 
naturally  sorrow  for  the  unfortunate,  yet  no  one 
deserves  our  pity  less  than  James.  He  was  a 


153 

tyrant  and  a  bigot,  and  the  main  cause  of  all 
that  our  religion  has  endured.  Religion  and 
liberty  perish  each  alike  when  sundered  ; 
neither  the  one  nor  the  other  can  elevate  its 
star-girt  forehead,  unless  when  their  hands  are 
joined,  and  seldom  has  this  jubilee  appeared  on 
earth. 

On  my  inquiring,  the  old  man  told  me,  that 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  I  could  procure 
lodgings  at  a  decent  and  rural  cottage  in  the 
valley  of  Glenart,  as  I  wished  to  move  Una  and 
Maurice  from  the  town.  He  provided  me  a 
horse  to  cross  the  ford,  and  by  a  narrow  path, 
which  led  through  the  woods,  I  soon  reached 
the  spot ;  it  was  deeply  sequestered,  umbrage- 
ous and  silent,  except  a  little  mountain  brook* 
that  glittered  as  it  broke  over  the  rocks  at  a 
distance,  and  skirted  the  foot  of  a  patch  of  lawn 
before  the  cottage, — It  was  a  scene  sanative  to 
a  pained  mind,  and  with  the  assistance  of  the 
worthy  priest  I  lost  no  time  in  removing  Una 
and  Maurice  thither* 

In  a  fortnight's  time  they  were  able  to  depart 
— but  no  amendment  appeared  in  Merritt,  he 
kept  himself  huddled  up  together,  repeating  to 

himself  without  let   or   stop "  Wo   is    me  ! 

Wo  is  me !" 

Una  had  announced  to  us  her  intention  of 
going  to  Spain,  and  no  argument  or  entreaties  of 
mine  and  Maurice^s  could  prevail  on  her  to 
alter  it. — When  strongly  urged,  she  would  reply 
with  bitterness,  "  none  but  slaves  would  live  in 
this  horrid  country.  I  will  go  where  I  may 


154' 


never  hear  more  the  sound  of  the  English  lan- 
guage." 

I  could  not  but  respect  the  poignancy  of  feel- 
ing, which  clouded  her  judgment,  though  she 
was  wrong  to  separate  herself  from  Maurice. 

Maurice  walked  to  Dublin,  that  he  might  visit 
Berghetta's  tomb  at  the  Seven  Churches.  We 
dismissed  our  faithful  sailors,  and  hiring  a  stout 
sloop,  I  conveyed  the  rest  of  our  melancholy 
company  by  sea, 

We  arrived  safe,  but  such  was  Una's  impa- 
tience to  leave  Ireland,  that  it  was  with  difficul- 
ty he  could  persuade  her  to  stay  till  he  went 
to  Rahery,  and  sent  Rory  to  accompany  her. 

Poor  Rory  went  wild  when  he  heard  of  his 
loved  master's  death  ;  and  it  broke  his  heart 
too,  to  part  from  Maurice's  children  ;  but  he 
did  not  hesitate  a  moment  to  accompany  Una^ 
proud  to  be  of  service  to  her. 

Maurice  sent  to  Una  by  Rory  all  the  money 
he  had,  or  could  raise  on  credit  ;  and  I  was  able 
to  borrow  a  trifle  too  from  my  reverend  friends 
in  Dublin.  Hi  Sullivan's  jewels  and  regalia  also 
I  delivered  to  Rory,  earnestly  recommending 
him  to  be  diligent  in  Una's  service  ;  for  she 
heeded  nothing,  seeming  to  have  no  heart  or 
thought  for  herself  or  for  any  one,  but  taken  up 
with  the  one  idea  of  getting  out  of  Ireland. 

Rory  was  so  wasted,  he  did  not  seem  likely  to 
be  of  much  service — he  l^id  himself  to  weep 


155 

and  wail,  and  when  he  had  spent  every  other 
topic  of  grief,  he  would  cry  anew,  because  he 
had  not  been  at  his  lord's  funeral.  But  all 
yielded  to  his  rage  when  he  tirst  saw  Merritt, 
nor  could  the  pitiful  condition  of  the  wretch  ap- 
pease him  :  he  hurried  to  me  to  know  why  T 
did  not  put  him  out  of  sight,  in  a  dungeon 
where  straw  and  the  bare  earth  would  be  usage 
too  good  for  him. 

"  I  will  tell  you  the  reason,  Rory,"  I  replied, 
wishing  to  teach  him  to  put  some  control  on  his 
feelings.  "  Maurice  is  a  Christian,  and  feels 
for  this  miserable  cause  of  all  our  suffering  more 
than  pity  and  forgiveness  ;  he  intends  to  take 
him  home,  and  take  care  of  him  himself."  Ro- 
ry  shook  his  head,  as  it  he  could  not  brook  that 
Merritt  should  be  so  well  used,  but  made  no 
answer  ;  however  the  very  license  with  which 
he  resigned  himself  to  his  grief  brought  its  own 
cure. 

He  slept  in  the  room  over  me,  and  I  was 
startled  at  night  by  the  noise  of  something  heavy 
failing  on  the  floor.  I  had  not  gone  to  bed,  but 
was  composing  my  spirits  by  the  perusal  of  the 
Testament.  1  took  my  light,  and  mounted  to 
Rory's  room — when  I  entered,  1  found  him  fal- 
len out  of  bed,  and  tying  in  a  fit  on  the  floor.  I 
raised  him  up,  and  chafing  his  temples,  in  a  lit- 
tle time  be  began  to  recover,  his  senses  were 
awhile  composed,  but  when  he  came  to  himself, 
he  gave  me  the  following  account. 

He  said,  that  since  he  had  heard  of  Hi  Sulli- 
vau's  death,  he  had  had  no  rest  in  his  mind,  but 


156 

was  in  a  state  of  unhappiriess  and  despair,  and 
that  he  passed  whole  hours  praying  to  God  thai 
he  might  die.  His  whole  mind  was  taken  up 
with  the  wish  to  see  his  dear  master  again.  He 
added,  that  after  he  went  to  bed  he  still  contin- 
ued weeping,  and  wishing  he  might  die  ;  when 
on  a  sudden  there  was  a  great  light  in  his  room, 
and  Hi  Sullivan  stood  hy  his  bedside. — "  Are 
you  come  ?"  he  cried,  and  flung  himself  out  of 
bed  to  embrace  him,  and  that  was  all  he  re- 
membered. 

Rory  considered  this  as  a  visitation  to  warn 
him  of  the  wickedness  of  putting  up  so  desper- 
ate a  prayer  to  God,  and  from  this  time  restrain- 
ed his  grief,  and  busied  himself  in  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  voyage. 

But  Una's  mind  did  not  take  a  softer  tone, 
and  I  was  grieved  to  see  her  depart  with  a 
sternness  and  insensibility  to  every  feeling  but 
her  own  wo,  which  made  reason  and  even  reli- 
gion unavailing.  • 

With  no  other  companion  but  the  wretch 
Merritt,  I  returned  home.  As  the  event  turn- 
ed out,  the  death  of  Hi  Sullivan  had  fixed  a  more 
lasting  pang  in  Maurice's  heart,  than  in  either 
Una's  or  Rory's.  His  attempt  at  suicide,  his 
total  neglect  of  the  offices  of  religion,  filled 
Maurice's  mind  with  the  dreadful  idea,  that  he 
might  have  passed  into  perdition,  and  they 
might  be  separated  forever.  He  raved  of  this 
when  he  was  ill,  and  when  he  was  able  to  con- 
verse, he  opened  all  his  apprehension  to  me. — 
W  hat  comfort  I  dared  give,  I  gave,  and  in  some 


157 

uc^ree  succeeded  in  soothing  Maurice  ;  but  to 
his  question,  whether  the  prayers  and  penance 
of  a  poor  sinner  like  himself  could  now  have 
any  influence  on  the  salvation  of  his  beloved 
friend,  I  could  only  answer  "  the  prayer  of  the 
righteous  man  availeth  much." — This  was  suffi- 
cient for  Maurice ;  and  as  the  most  painful  act 
to  himself  that  might  be  agreeable  to  God,  he 
resolved  to  take  Merrittto  his  house,  and  to  pro- 
vide for  him  in  his  present  helpless  state.  VThis 
he  continued  to  do  till  his  death,  though  to  the 
last  he  always  shuddered  when  he  first  entered 
his  room  in  the  morning.  Maurice  too  prac- 
tised the  most  rigid  abstinence  and  severe  pe- 
nances, not  for  the  value  of  the  observances 
themselves,  but  that,  he  said,  he  felt  most  hap- 
py when  he  had  mastered  every  consideration 
of  himself,  and  could  offer  a  pure  prayer  to  God 
for  his  friend. 

Yet  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  recovered 
apparent  tranquillity,  and  when  his  rustic  friends 
would  wonder,  that  he  sunk  more  now,  than 
when  Berghetta  died,  he  said,  "  Heaven  and 
hope  were  with  me,  even  the  day  that  Berrett 
died  ;  but  here  are  Hell  and  fear,  and  I  cannot 
shake  them  from  off  my  soul." 

Still  he  had  two  sureties  of  comfort — his 
children  who  warmed  his  heart — and  his  labour 
that  deadened  thought.  He  had  now  the  world 
to  begin  again,  and  with  an  enfeebled  frame  ; 
for  the  late  disasters,  and  furnishing  the  means 
to  Una  of  going  to  Spain,  had  left  both  Maurice 
and  me  bare  and  in  debt.  But  his  children  now 
began  to  help  him,  for  his  boys  were  strong  and 
14 


158 

active,  and  his  girl  capable  of  every  ingenious 
work  ;  and  under  Maurice's  direction  their  lit- 
tle  labours  were  turned  to  the  best  account. 
Merritt  was  a  great  burden  to  him,  for  though 
he  would  do  whatever  Maurice  bid  hirn,  yet  he 
never  understood  work  ;  and  whenever  Maurice 
was  away,  he  would  steal  to  the  chimney  corner, 
and  sit  huddled  up,  shivering,  and  muttering, 
"  wo  is  me,  wo  is  me."  If  he  had  been  Mau- 
rice's friend  and  brother,  he  could  not  have 
treated  him  with  more  tenderness.  The  chil- 
dren were  kept  very  much  from  him,  one  of  the 
boys  particularly,  who  was  called  after  Hi  Sulli- 
van, and  who  already  showed  a  strong  likeness 
to  him,  so  much  so,  that  Merritt  would  cover  his 
eyes  whenever  he  saw  him. 

The  poor  lad  young  Dale  also  lived  with 
Maurice,  and  if  he  had  his  will  would  never 
have  left  him  ;  but  Maurice  gathered  from  him, 
that  his  father  had  relations  in  London,  and 
Maurice  settled,  that,  when  he  had  saved  a  lit- 
tle money,  he  would  take  him  to  England,  and 
endeavour  to  find  them  out.  The  boy  from  the 
fright  he  got,  when  the  castle  was  burnt,  was 
subject  to  fits. 

Maurice  now  found  himself  obliged  to  sell 
his  little  patrimony  out  and  out,  which  he  did 
with  great  regret,  reserving  only  the  house. 
As  it  was  wonderfully  well  improved,  it  sold 
well,  and  Maurice  paid  all  his  debts,  and  had  a 
small  sum  to  reserve  for  any  great  necessity, 
which  he  deposited  in  my  hands.  He  was  not 
now  able  to  work  as  he  had  been  ;  for  the  first 
time  he  perceived,  that  his  health  failed  him — 


159 

his  diet  therefore  was  of  the  most  sparing  kind, 
eating  nothing  but  potatoes  and  a  little  salt ;  for 
he  would  say,  when  I  cannot  work,  I  am  not 
worth  feeding ;  yet  he  would  have  pampered 
his  children,  yet  they  early  showed  the  genero- 
sity of  their  nature,  for  they  refused  to  take  any 
other  diet  than  their  father  did  ;*  in  every  other 
respect  he  was  alike  sparing,   endeavouring  to 
meet  his  diminished  earnings  with  diminished  ex- 
penses.    He  had  received  more  injury  than  he 
was  aware  at  Berehaven,  for  he  was  now  trou- 
bled with  shortness  of  breath,  and  a  pain  at  the 
heart.    Yet  he  was  not  a  person  that  would  long 
remain  poor.     During  the  few  hours   he  had 
spent  in  Cork,  he  had  employed  one  of  them  in 
observing  some  basket  makers  at  work,  and  he 
kept  the  whole  method  in  his  head :  he   now 
made  some  trials,  and  with  very  little  difficulty, 
after  unravelling  a  few  baskets  he  bought  for  the 
purpose,  he  made  himself  master  of  the  business 
— This  rejoiced  him  much,  for  he  could  work  at 
it  when  he  felt  his  strength  fail,  or  after  dark; 
his  children  too  could  assist  him  without  much 
labour,  and  it  was  a  pretty  employment  for  them 
to  accompany  him  to  cut  the  black  sallow  rods, 
with  which  the  country  abounded,  till  he  could 
plant  an  osiery  in  the   garden  he  had   reserved 
with  his  house.     His   baskets  sold  well  in  the 
neighbourhood,  but  in  time  the  hucksters  that 
travelled  the   country   came  to  buy  from  him, 
and  took  as  many  as  he  could  get  ready — Ger- 
aldine  too    executed   some   small   neat  work, 
which  she  dyed  of  different  colours  with   cork- 
rane,  and  buemore,  and  ragwort. 

His  dear  children  gradually  soothed  his  mind, 
though  he  never  again  became  himself ;  when 


160 

/ 

years  had  past,  it  was  easy  to  see,  that  any  lit- 
tle effort  of  mirth  was  a  forced  state  that  wea- 
ried him.  and  that  he  was  most  at  ease  in  his 
usual  habit,  which  was  now  grave  but  tender. 
His  health  however  became  much  better,  he 
was  able  again  to  resume  his  wonted  labour, 
and  his  affairs  -prospered.  He  was  now  most 
content  to  live  an  humble  and  lowly  life,  and 
endeavoured  to  banish  from  his  children's 
minds  any  vanity  or  aspiring  wish,  that  might 
disgust  them  with  a  life  of  labour. 

They  early  showed  what  it  was  to  be  well 
tended  ;  you  never  heard  them  violent  or  quar- 
relsome ;  they  were  fond  of  employment,  cared 
little  for  play,  and  had  no  notion  of  happiness 
but  in  loviiig  each  other.  They  were  all  some- 
what too  tender  in  their  nature,  and  were  too 
alive  to  the  natural  sufferings  of  the  animal 
kind,  crying  with  broken  hearts  for  the  death  of 
a  pet  robin  ;  their  father  tried  to  give  fortitude 
to  their  sentiments,  and  to  change  it  to  a  wise 
humanity,  endeavouring  to  assuage  every  kind 
of  evil  but  not  despairing  when  evil,  was  found 
unavoidable.  When  he  thought  that  he  had  so 
nerved  their  minds,  (unwilling  that  they  should 
hear  it  from  any  one  else)  he  told  them  the  sto- 
ry of  Hi  Sullivan.  They  began  at  first  to  ask 
many  questions,  till  wonder  kept  them  silent ; 
but  at  the  first  word  that  gave  a  hint  of  the"*€a- 
tastrophe,  their  quick  imaginations  suggested  it 
«11,  and  a  burst  of  tears  succeeded,  with  sobs  of 
such  acute  anguish,  that  Maurice  was  forced  to 
suspend  his  tale.  When  Maurice  afterwards 
reverted  to  the  subject,  his  son,  James  Hi  Nial, 
though  the  tears  again  streamed  down  hifc 


161 

cheeks,  spoke  out  with  such  anger  and  passion, 
that  the  likeness  of  Hi  Sullivan  struck  both 
Maurice  and  me ;  we  exchanged  looks  of  sur- 
prise, and  Maurice,  while  he  chid  his  impetuosi- 
ty, folded  the  dear  boy  in  his  arms* 

The  three  children  petted  young  Dale,  who 
was  extremely  tender  and  sickly,  and  he  grew 
so  attached  to  them,  that  he  could  not  abide 
the  thoughts  of  being  parted  from  them.  But 
Maurice  being  sensible,  that  no  time  should  be 
lost  in  the  lad's  appearing  to  claim  his  great 
property,  leaving  his  children  to  my  care,  took 
him  to  England.  By  making  an  application  to 
the  chancery  court,  and  telling  what  had  hap- 
pened, he  easily  made  out  his  friends,  who  were 
glad  to  have  the  care  of  so  wealthy  a  ward. 
They  reimbursed  Maurice  handsomely  for  his 
trouble  and  expense,  but  the  poor  lad  would 
willingly  have  given  up  his  whole  estate,  to 
have  been  allowed  to  return  and  live  with  Mau- 
rice. 

Maurice  did  not  neglect  the  opportunity  of 
going  to  see  Headcroft  and  Mapleton.  He 
found  the  former,  though  little  past  forty  years, 
with  bad  health,  and  a  bloated  figure,  already 
afflicted  with  gout.  He  was  rejoiced  to  see 
Maurice,  and  made  him  tell  all  that  had  hap- 
pened to  him,  which  he  did  not  hear  without 
some  goodnatured  tears.  But  he  said,  that  he 
was  more  to  be  pitied  himself:  he  never  met 
any  one  that  ever  loved  him;  he  was  obliged 
to  live  alone,  as  every  one  complained  of  his 
temper,  which  was  bad  enough  when  in  the 
gout;  he  had  no  one  about  him  except  ser- 


162 

vants,  who  thought  of  nothing  except  eating 
and  drinking;  and  then  what  signified  all  his 
money  ?  Maurice  urged  him  to  greater  temper- 
ance, and  to  lead  a  more  active  life  ;  but  Head- 
croft  listened  with  despondency,  for  he  did  not 
feel  the  resolution  in  him.  He  said,  if  ever  he 
were  to  make  another  exertion,  it  would  be  to 
pay  Maurice  a  visit ;  "  and  depend  upon  it  if 
you  do,"  said  Maurice,  smiling,  "  and  will  take 
to  our  potatoe  diet,  and  help  me  to  work  as  I 
once  did  you,  you  will  soon  get  rid  of  your 
gout." 

Maurice  staid  with  him  some  days,  for  the 
memory  of  his  former  kindness  stiil  endeared 
him ;  and  when  he  came  away,  Headcroft 
would  not  be  denied,  but  made  him  accept  a 
hundred  pounds. 

Maurice  then  called  at  Mapleton's,  and  found 
him  prospering  as  a  good  man  ought ;  he  had 
not  risen  above  his  situation,  was  still  a  day  la- 
bourer, in  the  prime  of  health  and  life,  was 
married  to  a  clever  active  woman,  and  had 
every  thing  comfortable  about  him.  He  had 
buried  his  father  and  mother,  but  not  till  they 
had  given  theiif  blessing  to  his  four  children. 
He  wept  with  joy  when  he  saw  Maurice,  he 
took  it  so  kindly  his  coming  to  see  him  ;  he  laid 
by  his  work,  dressed  himself  in  his  best,  and 
did  the  honours  of  his  cottage  with  true  noble- 
ness of  spirit.  Maurice  always  said,  that  for 
sense  and  disposition  he  was  the  most  perfect 
person  he  ever  met,  having  great  feeling,  yet 
all  subdued  with  piety.  Maurice  had  again  to 
tell  his  sad  story,  but  was  now  much  soothed 


163 

by  the  sincere  but  manly  condolement  of 
Mapleton,  who  also  offered  him  such  assistance 
as  he  could  give.  But  Maurice  told  him  of 
Headcroft's  gift,  which  he  said  was  much  more 
than  he  had  any  occasion  for,  and  he  succeeded 
in  making  Mrs.  Mapleton  accept  ten  pounds  for 
each  of  her  children. 

Mapleton  showed  mucii  surprise,  when  Mau- 
rice told  him  how  long  he  had  been  at  Head- 
croft's.  He  said  that  he  was  so  tyrannical  and 
humoursome,  that  no  one  could  stay  two  days 
with  him.  "  I  go  to  see  him  once  or  twice  a 
year,  and  he  always  talks  of  you ;  indeed  he 
was  always  in  the  habit  of  keeping  down  the 
pride  of  his  workmen,  by  telling  them  that  the 
best  of  them  were  puny  fellows  compared  to 
you  ;  and  yet  he  always  added,  "  he  was  as 
true  a  prince,  man,  and  manners,  as  the  king  of 
England  himself." 

Maurice  returned  speedily  to  Ireland,  he 
was  ill  at  ease  while  absent  from  his  children  ; 
but  his  mind  was  now  greatly  eased,  by  having 
the  means  of  giving  them  the  comforts  and  in- 
dulgences suited  to  their  age. 

He  himself  became  perfectly  tranquil,  inca- 
pable of  being  agitated  by  any  thing  on  earth, 
and  only  anxious  to  make  his  children  good 
and  pious. 

So  passed  three  years,  while  Maurice's  chil- 
dren grew  up  perfect  in  feature  and  disposi- 
tion ;  and  all  this  time  we  heard  nothing  of 
Una.  Yet  we  did  not  fear  for  her  safety,  for 


164 

she  never  said  she  would  write,  but  imagined 
that  she  wished  to  remove  every  thing  connect- 
ed with  Ireland  from  her  rnind  ;  and,  cut  as  she 
had  been  to  the  core,  we  could  not  blame  her. 

I  have  now  to  relate  my  last  misfortune,  and 
the  heaviest,  though  there  was  nothing  here  to 
shock  or  terrify,  and  Maurice  was  prepared  for 
it  by  first  seeing  his  children  placed  in  afflu- 
ence ;  for  though  he  was  no  worshipper  of  rich- 
es, he  had  a  dread  of  poverty,  and  the  crimes 
that  often  follow  from  hard  necessity. 

Three  years,  as  I  said,  it  might  be  after  Mau- 
rice went  to  England,  when  we  were  pleasantly 
surprised  by  the  arrival  of  John  Mapleton,  who, 
with  a  kind  zeal,  had  measured  the  long  jour- 
ney on  foot  5  but  we  were  much  more  surpris- 
ed by  the  news  he  came  to  communicate,  that 
Headcroft  had  died  of  the  gout,  and  had  left 
all  his  large  fortune  to  Maurice,  giving  as  a 
reason,  that  Maurice  was  the  only  person  he 
had  ever  met,  who  cared  a  rush  for  him  in 
reality. 

"  My  dear  Mapleton,"  said  Maurice,  "  I  am 
sure  you  will  understand  me,  and  believe  me, 
when  I  say  that  for  my  own  part,  provided  I 
have  the  means  of  keeping  every  thing  neat 
and  comfortable,  I  never  would  aspire  above 
this  cottage  (for  I  will  not  call  it  a  cabin,  since 
I  have  made  it  as  like  yours  as  1  possibly  could)  ; 
but  since  it  is  God's  pleasure,  that  these  dear 
children  should  be  restored  to  the  rank  their 
forefathers  held,  I  will  allow  myself  to  rejoice." 


165 

•'  They  are  the  most  lovely  young  things  1 
ever  saw,"  replied  Mapleton,  "and  the  very 
sight  of  them  proves  they  were  born  for  high 
station.  They  are  not  the  least  like  the  peo- 
ple one  is  used  to  see  in  England,  and  they 
don't  seem  of  the  same  nature  with  the  poor 
people  I  have  met  since  I  came  to  this 
country." 

Maurice  smiled  in  the  pride  of  a  father's 
heart.  "  However,"  added  he,  "  you  must  not 
form  so  mean  an  opinion  of  the  people  of  this 
country,  I  think  I  am  a  fair  judge,  and  I  will 
venture  to  say  what  I  think.  You  will  soon 
allow,  that  in  point  of  propriety  of  manners, 
and  conversation,  and  cleverness,  I  don't  mean 
cleverness  of  the  hands,  but  of  the  head,  they 
are  far  superior  to  the  same  rank  of  people  in 
England." 

Maurice  now,  to  honour  his  guest,  indulged 
in  a  hospitable  disposition  that  was  natural  to 
him,  and  invited  his  neighbours  by  turns,  who 
were  pretty  many,  as  ten  miles  were  reckoned 
no  distance  to  come  and  return  at  night. 

Mapleton  acknowledged  himself  surprised  at 
their  quickness,  gentility,  and  pleasantness,  all 
dressed  in  their  best,  no  awkwardness  or  re- 
serve, no  prosing  or  boasting,  but  every  one 
making  little  of  himself,  and  only  trying  to  be 
polite  and  amusing. 

Mapleton  staid  a  month  with  Maurice,  and 
then  prepared  to  depart,  but  Maurice  first  gave 
bim  a  proper  authority  to  act  for  him  in  every 


166 

respeet  in  England  ;  at  the  same  time  making 
him  a  present  of  one  thousand  pounds,  direct- 
ing him,  if  he  discovered  any  relations  of  Head- 
croft's,  to  provide  for  them  handsomely,  and  to 
convert  every  thing  into  money,  that  it  might 
be  the  more  readily  applied  to  the  use  of  his 
children. 

He  then  accompanied  Mapleton  to  Dublin, 
and  took  him  on  to  see  that  glory  and  pride  of 
nature,  the  county  of  Wicklow,  that  he  might 
leave  the  country  with'  a  favourable  impression 
of  it.  Especially  he  took  him  to  the  Seven 
Churches,  whither  the  genius  of  the  country 
seems  to  have  retired  in  solitude,  in  sorrow,  and 
magnificence. 

Mapleton  was  astonished  at  seeing  every  thing 
so  unlike  and  so  surpassing  what  he  had  ever 
seen  before  ;  "  but  how  comes  it,"  said  he  to 
Maurice,  "  that  in  so  glorious  a  country  you 
see  such  wretched  people,  and  such  horrid 
houses  ?" 

"I  once,"  replied  Maurice,  "did  not  mind 
these  things,  but  of  late  years  I  have  thought  a 
good  deal  about  them,  and  if  you  will  have  my 
opinion,  it  is  because  the  persons,  who  govern 
the  country,  keep  down  the  spirit  and  activity  of 
the  persons,  instead  of  calling  them  out,  and 
making  them  feel  themselves  somebody.  My 
dear  friend  used  to  tell  me,  that  abroad  the 
Irish  throve  more  than  any  other  people,  their 
faculties  being  generally  superior,  and  their 
opportunities  equal  to  those  of  the  men  they 
fell  amongst." 


167 

Mapleton  fully  justified  what  Maurice  tKbught 
of  his  skill  and  honesty,  managing  all  his  affairs 
as  well  as  he  could  have  done  himself,  and 
turning  every  thing  to  the  best  account;  he 
wrote  to  Maurice,  that  he  had  discovered  some 
very  poor  and  very  distant  relations  of  Head- 
croft's,  who  expected  nothing  from  him,  as  he 
had  never  noticed  them,  and  were  as  much 
amazed  as  rejoiced  at  Maurice's  bounty  to 
them. 

Maurice  changed  his  style  of  living  in  nothing 
but  what  regarded  the  convenience  and  instruc- 
tion of  his  children.  To  me  he  gave  an  annui- 
ty of  £150  a  year,  and  would,  if  1  had  let  him, 
have  made  it  thrice  as  much.  But  as  he  still 
continued  fond  of  work,  nothing  would  satisfy 
him  but  coming  over  to  me,  arid  making  quite 
a  palace  of  my  shed.  His  younger  son,  Cor- 
mac,  had  just  the  same  turn,  the  pretty  pave- 
ment of  black  and  white  pebbles,  diamond 
fashion,  round  the  house,  was  his  work. 

Travellers  when  they  come  to  this  country 
do  not  perceive,  that  the  misery  of  the  people 
arises  from  the  errors  of  the  government — but 
who  that  ever  perceives  a  flock  of  miserable 
starved  mangy  sheep,  doubts,  that  it  is  the  fault 
of  the  farmer  that  owns  them  ? 

When  Maurice  returned  home,  one  night  he 
was  awakened  by  a  noise  at  the  door,  and  some 
one  begging  for  admittance — He  could  not  be 
mistaken  in  the  voice,  it  was  Mrs.  M4Connick's. 
Maurice  trembled  with  horror  and  aversion  at 
the  old  beldame — and  unwillingly  arose  to  let 


168 

her  in.  But  what  could  he  do  ?  the  night  wa« 
tempestuous,  and  he  could  not  at  such  an  hour 
turn  her  from  his  door.  He  let  her  in,  and 
.  begged  her  to  speak  low,  lest  her  son  might 
hear  her. 

"  And  is  he  alive  ?"  said  she,  "  and  I  shall  see 
him  once  more  ;  well,  there  is  joy  in  that ;  and 
will  he  know  me,  think  you  ?  is  he  sensible 
again  ?" 

Maurice  told  her  his  senses  were  quite  gone, 
and  if  he  recollected  her.  it  might  only  make 
him  rave. 

"  Then  cannot  I  see  him  while  he  sleeps  ? 
only  one  look,  and  I  will  never  ask  to  see  him 
again  ;  it  is  only  one  look  before  I  die,  for  that 
was  what  brought  me  here,  to  lay  my  bones  in 
my  mother's  grave." 

Maurice  showred  her  the  room  where  he  slept, 
and  gave  her  a  light ;  she  went  in,  but  returned 
almost  instantly,  her  haggard  face  marked  with 
horror — "  Let  me  never  see  him  again,"  she 
said,  "  it  has  killed  me — he  has  the  face  of  an 
old  man  dug  up  ;  I  shall  never  get  it  out  of  my 
eyes — yet  how  elegant  you  have  every  4hing 
about  him  !  oh,  it  is  you  indeed  that  deserve 
the  blessing  of  the  saints,  while  fire  and  brim- 
stone are  too  good  for  me  and  mine." 

"  Yet  for  the  effort  you  made  to  save  poor 
Hi  Sullivan,  I  will  always  bless  you.  But  only 
answer  me  one  question,  I  have  only  one  to 
ask,  did  you  know  of  Merritt's  treason  ?  and  if 


169 

you  did,  why  did  you  not  attempt  to  turn  him 
from  it  sooner  ?" 

"  And  didn^t  I  ?  didn't  I  try  to  melt  him  ?  but 
he  had  no  nature  ever  in  him,  you  might  as 
well  try  to  draw  tears  from  cast  iron — I  begged 
him  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  it,  not  to  de- 
mean himself  by  leaguing  with  the  Sassenahs. 
What  could  I  do  more  ?  did  I  not  go  down  on 
my  knees  and  weep  salt  tears  ?  oh,  trust  me, 
my  heart  was  ever  loyal,  there  I  am  not  afraid 
to  be  touched." 

"  That  is  enough,"  said  Maurice,  "  and  I 
thought  no  worse  of  you.  But  will  you  not 
now  go  to  bed  ?" 

"  What  to  do  ?"  said  she,  "  I  never  sleep  ; 
let  me  go  to  your  kitchen  hearth,  and  sit  over 
the  ashes ;  and  to-morrow  I  will  ask  only  for 
an  outhouse,  where  I  may  be  in  peace  with  my 
filth  and  rags,  and  so  die. — Die  she  did,  but, 
ever  bringing  evil  fortune  with  her,  she  was  the 
cause  of  Maurice's  death.    Herding  mostly  with 
vagrant   beggars,   as  she   travelled   along,  her 
clothes   were  full  of  infection.      The  humani- 
ty of  the  children,  particularly  of  Geraldine, 
brought  them  about  her,  and  a  few  days  after 
her  death  Geraldine  became  sick  and  faint,  and 
the  symptoms  of  the  cabin  fever  appeared  on 
her. — Maurice  sent  her  brothers  to  me,  while 
he  himself  tended  Geraldine  ;    and  though  it 
was  a  long  period  of  suspense,  yet  at  the  end 
of  three  weeks  she  recovered.     But  Maurice 
in   his  turn   received   the  infection,  it  was  a 
severe  struggle,  and  though  he  at  last  shook  off 
15 


170 

the  complaint,  it  left  behind  a  disorder  of  his 
chest,  which  ended  in  a  decline.  Death,  how- 
ever, approached  on  him  so  visibly,  yet  so 
gradually,  that  the  pain  of  separation  was  soft- 
ened— every  day  he  talked  to  his  children  of 
his  death  as  of  a  familiar  arid  desirable  event. — 
He  spoke  of  his  reunion  with  their  mother,  and 
of  the  short  time  they  themselves  had  to  live, 
till  he  should  meet  them  again.  He  arranged 
every  thing  for  his  death,  and  gave  them  coun- 
sel for  the  future  management  of  their  lives, 
exhorting  them  notwithstanding  their  wealth,  to 
practise  as  plain  and  simple  a  mode  of  life  as 
consisted  with  whatever  station  befel  them,  to 
maintain  their  affection  for  each  other,  and  to 
be  cautious  in  forming  any  romanesque  attach- 
ments that  might  diminish  it. 

He  spoke  to  me  of  the  particular  happiness 
of  his  death.  "  I  die,"  he  said,  "  without  any 
anxiety  about  my  children's  fortune,  which  is 
more  than  I  could  have  expected ;  and  I  have 
time  to  accustom  their  minds,  and  to  fortify 
their  gentle  natures,  to  meet  this  their  first  and 
perhaps  heaviest  calamity.  I  have  every  as- 
surance that  they  will  be  good  ;  and  this  is  all 
that  is  of  any  real  importance.  1  shall  meet 
Berrett  again,  and  Hi  Sullivan;  my  fears  on 
his  account  have  ceased  to  torment  me,  for  God 
is  his  judge." 

Beibre  he  died,  he  had  the  satisfaction  to 
hear  the  best  tidings  from  Una,  which  gave  him 
great  contentment.  He  wrote  to  her,  and  gave 
her  his  instructions  about  his  children.  His 
wish  was,  that  they  should  be  sent  to  Spain : 


171 

he  said,  that  nothing  appeared  to  him  to  cast 
such  a  blight  on  the  character,  as  living  under 
an  habitual  consciousness  of  being  despised,  and 
he  preferred  that  his  children  should  quit  their 
native  country,  rather  than  live  in  it  as  indivi- 
duals of  a  degraded  sect ;  he  had  thought  much 
on  this  head,  since  Hi  Sullivan's  death,  and  he 
could  by  no  means  bear,  that  his  eldest  son, 
who  already  showed  all  Hi  Sullivan's  spirit  and 
altitude  of  mind,  should  run  the  risk  of  encoun- 
tering a  like  fate  from  like  qualities  ;  in  Spain, 
he  added  he  will  be  honoured  and  his  heart 
will  be  at  ease,  here  it  might  only  be  perpetual- 
ly rankled,  since  he  will  have  a  fortune  above 
any  station  in  society  that  he  can  attain." 

As  his  death  drew  near,  his  poor  children 
were  struck  with  a  sudden  alarm,  which  even 
his  calmness  did  not  overcome  ;  they  clung  ten- 
derly round  him  closer  and  closer  as  their  loss 
approached.  They  could  not  now  support  to 
hear  him  talk  of  his  death,  so  that  it  was  to  me 
only  that  he  indulged  the  natural  bent  of  his 
thoughts.  I  should  have  thought  it  impossible,55 
he  said,  "  to  have  parted  with  objects  so  dear 
with  so  little  regret,  but  I  see  now,  that  every 
state  of  life  has  its  alleviations.  A  desire  of 
repose  deadens  all  the  keenness  of  my  sensa- 
tions, and  these  dear  children  pain  me  in  call- 
ing me  back  to  a  wish  for  life.  I  incline  to 
death,  as  a  weary  person  does  to  sleep  ;  and  I 
already  feel  a  consciousness,  that  I  am  passing 
into  a  happy  state  of  existence.55 

The  morning  before  his  death  he  told  me,  that 
•he  had  dreamt  he  had  met  Berghetta  in  Paradise, 


172 

and  that  all  the  appearances  he  had  seemed  to 
see  were  still  so  vivid  on  his  senses,  that  he 
was  in  the  greatest  delight — An  hour  after,  sup- 
ported on  Geraldine's  arm,  he  breathed  his  last 
— He  had  raised  himself  with  an  effort  to  kiss 
her — then  turned  his  face,  and  died  without  a 
groan. 

Now  I  was  truly  laid  in  the  dust,  and  taught 
to  know  how  little  strength  human  nature  has, 
though  always  confident  in  itself;  hut  who  cares 
to  hear  of  the  sorrows  and  follies  of  an  old 
priest  ?  1  had  not  seen  the  approach  of  Mau- 
rice's death  with  the  same  alarm  the  dear  chil- 
dren had  5  but  when  he  died,  and  the  love  I  bore 
him  bled  at  every  vein,  I  lost  all  self  command, 
and  disgraced  myself  by  an  extravagant  grief 
that  unsettled  my  reason. 

Poor  dear  children,  how  were  their  gentle 
hearts  tried,  when,  instead  of  finding  support, 
they  were  called  to  give  it  to  an  irrational  old 
man  !  but  they  had  a  support  in  the  love  they 
bore  each  other,  and  would  dry  each  other's 
tears  with  such  kind  affection,  that  their  grief 
became  lovely. 

However,  the  first  offices  of  religion  I  per- 
formed calmed  the  disturbance  of  my  mind  ;  and 
a  neighbouring  priest,  who  was  sent  for  to  bury 
Maurice,  while  I  was  incapable,  succeeded  by 
his  mild  remonstrances  in  restoring  me  to  com- 
posure. 

I  took  Merritt  to  live  with  me,  as  I  had  pro- 
mised Maurice  that  I  would  do ;  and  the  dear 


173 

children  accompanied  me  home.  They  took 
with  them  little  relics,  that  reminded  them  of 
their  father,  his  hair,  their  mother's  wedding 
ring,  and  these  they  would  kiss  and  cry  over 
every  day.  Nor  did  grief  pass  away  with  them, 
as  is  generally  the  case  with  the  young,  but  all 
three,  particularly  Geraldine,  retained  a  gentle 
gravity  of  look  and  demeanour,  that  partook  of 
melancholy. 

I  wrote  to  Una,  to  tell  her  of  Maurice's  death, 
and  to  beg  her  to  send  Rory,  that  he  might  ac- 
company the  children  to  Spain. 

I  pin  on  here  the  letter  Maurice  received 
from  her,  and  which  gave  him  so  much  content- 
ment. 

"  My  dearest  Maurice, 

"  I  would  readily  make  all  the  humiliating 
confessions,  which  are  necessary  to  account  for 
my  long  silence  5  none  could  excuse  it,  but  I 
know  that  the  leniency  and  kindness  of  your 
nature  will  riot  require  them.  Upon  this  head 
then  I  will  be  brief.  When  I  left  Ireland,  in  the 
first  paroxysm  of  despair,  the  irritation  of  my 
grief,  its  concentred  selfishness,  joined  with 
wounded  pride,  gave  me  a  distaste  to  intercourse 
or  communication,  even  with  you.  It  was  not 
till  I  arrived  at  Lisbon,  and  was  beset  with  all 
the  embarrassments  of  the  land  journey  thence 
to  Madrid,  that  my  attention  could  be  turned  to 
any  subject,  but  the  one  sad  wound  that  lacerat- 
ed my  heart. 

"I  must  have  sunk  under  the  fatigue   of  the 
15* 


174 

journey  from  Lisbon  to  Madrid,  so  intense  was 
the  heat,  and  our  progress  over  the  sandy  roads 
so  slow,  but  that,  though  weakened,  I  was  still 
supported  by  the  hardy  habits  of  my  youth. — 
Excessive  weariness  at  length  deadened  the  in- 
tolerable pain  of  my  mind,  and  before  I  reach- 
ed Madrid  I  had  experienced  some  intervals  of 
sound  sleep.  This  was  of  the  greatest  service 
to  me,  as  I  was  able,  on  my  arrival  at  Madrid, 
to  take  such  steps  as  were  necessary  in  my  deso- 
late and  unprotected  situation. 

"  I  wrote  a  note  to  the  Conde  d'O'Donnel^ 
the  most  noble  of  the  Irish,  who,  being  driven 
from  their  own  country,  had  retained  their  hon- 
ours, and  risen  to  wealth  and  fame,  in  Spain.  1 
briefly  mentioned  my  misfortunes,  arid  claimed 
his  protection.  His  age,  for  he  is  past  seventy, 
rendered  this  step  unobjectionable. 

"  He  waited  on  me  immediately,  and  though 
he  had  even  forgoten  his  native  language,  and 

.  .  o      o    ' 

spoke  to  me  in  French,  his  heart  was  warmly 
Irish.  He  knew  the  history  of  every  Irish  fam- 
ily, that  had  been  driven  into  exile,  and  was 
well  acquainted  with  the  genealogy  of  those 
that  remained.  He  had  even  met  Hi  Sullivan's 
father,  in  early  youth,  and  desired  me,  without 
delay,  to  assume  the  title  of  princess,  as  his  tes- 
timony to  my  claim  was  all  that  would  be  re- 
quired by  the  Spanish  court  ;  and  he  advised 
me  to  write  to  you  to  forward  a  copy  of  the 
pedigree  of  Hi  Nial,  which  I  had  mentioned  to 
him.  He  insisted  upon  my  removing  instantly 
to  his  palace,  and  desired  me  to  consider  him  in 
the  light  of  a  father.  A  few  days  proved  the 


175 

sincerity  of  his  professions,  for  he  obtained  from 
the  court  of  Spain  a  recognition  of  my  title, 
and  a  pension  for  me  of  two  hundred  crowns  a 
month. 

"  For  some  months  I  secluded  myself  entire- 
ly, saddening  my  melancholy  hours  with  bitter 
remembrances,  and  only  leaving  my  room  when 
the  conde  d'O'Donnel  suffered  from  illness,  and 
my  attentions  were  useful  to  a  person  never  ac- 
customed to  be  alone,  and  habituated  to  the  ac- 
tivity of  the  great  world.  But  at  length  the 
conde  mentioned  to  me,  that  it  was  quite  neces- 
sary, that  I  should  appear  at  court  ;  nor  could 
this  small  attention  in  return  for  so  many  bene- 
fits be  refused.  He  had  spoken  in  praise  of  my 
beauty  ;  and  at  court,  where  satiety  so  soon 
follows  amusement,  every  new  object  is  ardent- 
ly desired.  The  queen  had  expressed  a  wish 
to  see  me. 

"  Unwillingly  I  prepared  to  comply  ;  yet  not 
unmindful  of  the  rank  of  Hi  Sullivan,  I  dressed 
myself  in  a  rich  French  habit,  and  put  on  those 
family  jewels,  than  which  there  is  scarcely  any 
thing  finer  in  the  most  splendid  courts. 

"  I  had  suffered  too  much  for  trifling  feelings 
of  embarrassment  to  occupy  me,  and  leaning  on 
the  Conde's  arm,  I  walked  through  a  crowd  of 
courtiers,  whose  attention  was  naturally  caught 
by  the  novelty  of  my  foreign  dress,  scarcely 
sensible  of  their  presence,  and  indifferent  to  the 
impression  I  might  make. — But  when  we 
reached  the  circle  where  the  queen  sat,  and 
the  conde  advanced  to  present  me,  I  could  not 


176 

avoid  being  penetrated  with  admiration  at  the 
sis^ht  of  this  young  beauty.  I  made  a  slender 
courtsey,  preserving  myself  from  that  mean  as- 
siduousness, which  characterises  courtiers  both 
male  and  female. — She  said,  in  Spanish,  '  we 
are  obliged  to  the  princess  Hi  Sullivan  for  the 
honour  she  does  our  court,'  and  seemed  as  if  she 
would  have  said  more,  but  was  restrained  by 
the  forms  of  this  most  formal  court  ;  but  these 
few  words  were  accompanied  by  a  smile  of  great 
sweetness. 

"  A  few  days  after,  the  conde  told  me,  that  I 
had  formed  the  conversation  of  the  whole  court, 
and  that  my  beauty,  and  the  ease  and  dignity 
of  my  manner,  were  the  admiration  of  all :  this 
interested  me  very  little,  but  not  so  when  he 
proceeded  to  say,  that  the  queen  was  charmed 
with  me,  said  openly  that  there  was  no  lady  in 
the  Spanish  or  French  court  to  be  compared 
with  me,  and  had  desired  the  conde  to  request, 
that  I  would  pay  her  a  morning  visit. 

"  Though  sensibly  flattered,  I  begged  to  be 
excused  for  the  present,  pleading  the  sad  im- 
pression of  my  recent  grief,  and  my  wish  to 
remain  in  solitude,  till  I  could  mix  in  society 
without  repugnance. 

'"  The  conde  said  I  should  be  under  no  con- 
straint, and  in  the  mean  time  he  gave  me  a 
short  history  of  this  lovely  princess,  who  was 
only  in  her  eighteenth  year. 

"  Alas,  that  a  young  princess,  bred  up  in  the 
most  refined  court  in  the  world,  should  be  forced 


177 

to  pass  her  life  in  the  formality  of  the  court  of 
Madrid  !  In  France  she  had  always  been  used  to 
eat  in  public,  she  danced,  she  rode  on  horseback, 
she  knew  and  esteemed  her  companions,  and 
they  adored  her.  But  one  day  past  the  day  of 
her  marriage,  and  she  found  herself  on  a  sudden 
among  persons  whom  she  knew  not,  and  could 
not  appear  amiable  enough  to  divert  her  grief; 
she  understood  so  very  little  of  their  language, 
that  she  could  not  return  an  answer  without 
trouble.  The  manner  in  which  they  served 
her  appeared  so  strange,  and  carried  so  small  a 
resemblance  to  that  of  France,  that  she  was 
not  a  little  discomposed  at  it ;  all  was  ceremony, 
restraint,  and  affectation.  From  the  very  first 
day  she  appeared  amongst  them,  the  Spaniards 
expected  that  she  should  know  all  their  forms, 
which  she  was  to  observe  religiously  the  rest  of 
her  life  ;  they  made  allowance  for  nothing,  they 
dispensed  with  nothing. 

"  Yet  as  the  young  king  passionately  loved 
her,  and  as  the  natural  sweetness  of  the  queen's 
temper,  and  her  prudence,  made  her  receive 
all  these  things  that  fatigued  and  displeased  her, 
with  great  patience,  she  might  yet  have  been 
happy,  but  for  the  rigid  temper  of  her  camere- 
ra  mayor,  the  duchess  de  Terra  Nova. 

"  This  office  is  of  considerable  power,  as  the 
camerera  mayor  regulates  all  the  ceremonial  of 
the  queen's  court,  which  enters  into  the  minut- 
est actions,  and  she  in  reality  keeps  the  queen 
and  all  her  ladies  in  a  state  of  severe  constraint 
and  imprisonment. 


178 

bi  The  duchess  inherited  a  great  fortune,  that 
descended  to  her  from  Fernando  Cortez,  for 
her  mother  bore  the  name  of  that  famous 
captain ;  among  the  rest,  a  small  kingdom  in 
Spanish  America.  She  is  extremely  rich,  of  a 
fierce  imperious  humour  to  persons  above  her, 
insupportable  to  her  equals,  hut  kind  and  oblig- 
ing to  her  inferiors.  She  has  a  great  deal  of 
talent,  is  fixed  in  her  resolutions,  her  temper 
cold  and  serious,  still  preserving  her  Spanish 
gravity,  and  never  steps  a  foot  backward  or 
forward  without  consideration.  She  pronoun- 
ces her  '  I  will,'  or  4 1  will  not,'  in  a  tone  that 
makes  one  tremble.  She  is  a  meagre,  pale 
woman,  of  a  long  and  wrinkled  visage,  yet  not 
inelegant  in  her  carriage. 

"  One  would  have  thought,  that,  out  of  mere 
policy,  the  duchess  would  have  endeavoured  to 
win  upon  the  queen's  sweet  disposition,  and 
establish  an  interest  in  her  regard  before  an 
opportunity  was  given  to  other  competitors. 
She  had  considerable  enemies  at  court,  and  the 
prince  Don  Juan,  who  had  advanced  her  to 
the  post,  was  dead.  But  she  took  different 
measures  from  what  any  body  would  have  sup- 
posed ;  she  sought  a  dominion  over  the  queen's 
mind  by  the  influence  of  fear,  and  she  endeav- 
oured to  rule  the  king  by  awakening  his  jeal- 
ousy, and  then  seeming  to  devote  herself  to 
administer  to  its  interests.  She  represented 
to  him  the  ill  consequences  of  that  liberty, 
which  women  are  allowred  in  France ;  that  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  for  the  queen  to  live 
after  the  retired  manner  that  the  sex  observes 
at  Madrid  5  that  she  was  young,  lively,  and  of 


179 

a  brilliant  spirit,  and  accustomed  to  French 
fashions ;  and  that  what  was  innocent  in  one 
place  may  become  criminal  in  another;  but  if 
he  would  be  pleased  to  contide  in  her.  she 
would,  hy  her  great  diligCLce,  prevent  the  pos- 
sibility of  ill. 

"  The  king,  whose  education  had  impressed, 
on  him  the  conviction  of  all  Spaniards,  that 
there  is  no  dependance  on  a  lady's  virtue,  un- 
less all  opportunities  of  transgressing  are  re- 
moved, gave  the  duchess  sufficient  assurances  of 
his  confidence. 

"  By  this  means  she  governed  the  queen  like 
a  child,  confining  her  to  a  solitary  and  formal 
life,  where  there  was  no  liberty  or  conversa- 
tion^ but  all  w  as  grandeur  and  ceremony,  reve- 
rence and  state. 

"  All  the  queen's  French  attendants  had  been 
dismissed,  not  without  tears  on  both  sides  ;  and 
as  she  passionately  loved  her  country,  it  was 
natural  that  she  should  look  upon  me,  who  had 
resided  there  so  long,  with  some  interest. 

"  Upon  her  expressing  a  second  time  a  wish 
to  see  me,  1  prepared  to  go,  and  the  conde  ac- 
companied me  to  the  door  of  her  private  apart- 
ments. 1  found  her  in  her  closet,  which  wras 
painted  and  gilded,  and  set  out  with  great  look- 
ing glasses  fastened  to  the  ceiling.  She  sat 
upon  a  little  square  stool  near  the  window, 
making  gold  network  mingled  with  blue  silk  : 
her  hair  was  parted  in  the  middle  of  her  head, 
which  was  bare  ;  only  one  knot  of  her  hair  was 


180 

curled,  plaited  with  great  pearls,  and  reached 
down  to  her  waist.     She  had  a  velvet  robe  on. 
of  a  rose  colour,  embroidered  with  silver,  and 
had  pendants  in  her  ears  that  nearly  touched  her 
shoulders,  and  so  heavy,  that  she  gave  herself 
the  trouble  to  take  out  one  of  them,    that   I 
might  pass  my  judgment  on  it.     She  then  desir- 
ed, that  the  next  time  1  came  I  would  bring 
my  suit  of  Irish  emeralds,  as  she  had  never  seen 
any  thing  of  the  kind  so  fine.     She  spoke  very 
little  French  to  me,  affecting  to  talk  Spanish 
before  the  duchess,  who  never  left  her.     She 
ordered  me  to  send  her  any  letters  I  received 
from  France,  that  had  any  news  in  them.     I 
answered,  that  the  news  that  was   sent  to  me 
did  not  deserve  her  attention. — '  Ah  !'  she  cri- 
ed, lifting  up  her  eyes  with  a  charming  air,  1 1 
shall  never  esteem  any  thing  that  comes  from  a 
country  so  dear  to  me  an  object   of  indiffer- 
ence.'    '  This  affection  then,'  I  ventured  to  say, 
4  which  your  majesty  preserves  for  your  native 
country,  will  make  me  think  myself  less  insig- 
nificant, as  my  residence  there  was  so  early  and 
so  long,  I  feel  myself  half  a  French  woman.' 

"  She  answered  me  with  her  usual  goodness, 
and  whispered  me  in  French,  that  she  would 
rather  see  me  apparelled  after  the  French  fash- 
ion than  that  of  Spain. 

"  '  Madam,'  I  replied,  4  it  is  a  sacrifice  which 
I  have  made  to  the  respect  I  have  for  your 
majesty.' 

"  '  Say  rather,'  continued  she,  smiling,  '  that 
you  have  heard  of  the  rigid  temper  of  the  duch- 
ess, and  this* has  frightened  you.'  She  appear- 


Itfi 

ed  Lo  me  so  very  charming  that  day,  that  I  could 
not  forbear  to  love  her,  for  in  spite  of  her  me- 
lancholy she  was  plump,  and  preserved  her 
complexion,  and  this  contributed  to  make  her 
still  more  beautiful  and  agreeable. 

"  The  consequence  of  this  visit  was  that  the 
queen  grew  fond  of  my  society,  particularly  as 
I  often  received  letters  from  France,  which  she 
took  great  pleasure  in  reading,  particularly  one 
giving  an  account  of  the  marriage  of  Mademoi- 
selle de  Blois  with  Monsieur  the  prince  de  Con- 
ti.  This  by  degrees  led  me  into  much  company, 
for  when  the  court  perceived  that  I  was  favour- 
ed by  the  queen,  I  was  importuned  with  invi- 
tations, and  many  corning  from  the  conde 
d'O'DonnePs  intimate  friends,  I  could  scarcely 
refuse  them  without  giving  him  offence. 

"  Before  I  was  aware,  I  was  plunged  into  a 
degree  of  levity  very  ill  suited  to  my  situation  ; 
and  though  I  had  not  force  enough  to  disengage 
myself,  I  was  so  sensibly  ashamed  of  my  con- 
duct, that  I  did  not  dare  to  write  to  you  ;  I 
contented  myself  with  forwarding  to  you  a  trifle 
saved  from  my  allowance  from  court ;  but  this 
I  discovered  afterwards  you  never  received, 
owing  to  the  infidelity  of  the  agent  that  I  em- 
ployed. 

"  Two  years  passed  away  in  this  manner, 
when  I  must  still  blush  to  own  I  formed  an 
attachment  for  a  person  younger  than  myself; 
but  when  I  at  last  discovered,  that  his  charac- 
ter was  light  and  worthless,  my  conduct  appear- 
ed to  me  in  its  true  colours ;  I  became  sensi- 


182 

ble  of  my  own  intolerable  pride  and  presump- 
tion, and  humbling  myself  to  that  Power,  who 
can  alone  subdue  and  tranquillize  the  human 
heart,  I  determined  to  trust  myself  no  more,  but 
to  retire  to  a  convent  and  take  the  veil. 

"  The  queen  was  so  good  as  to  oppose  my 
intention,  though,  when  she  found  it  fixed,  she 
did  not  abandon  me,  but  frequently  came  to  see 
me  in  my  retirement;  and  finally,  when  my 
conduct  and  my  exactness  in  performing  all  the 
duties  of  devotion  allowed  her  to  do  it  with 
propriety,  on  the  death  of  the  abbess  de  Santo 
Domingo  el  Real,  she  placed  me  at  the  head 
of  the  establishment. 

"  This  is  my  present  situation  ;  and  here  I 
have  at  last  found  in  devotion,  and  works  of 
benevolence,  that  peace  which  so  many  have 
proved,  besides  myself,  is  not  to  be  found  in 
the  commerce  of  the  world.  God,  indeed,  has 
been  too  good  to  me,  in  restoring  me  to  happi- 
ness. The  patronage  of  the  queen,  and  the 
rank  I  enjoy  at  court,  secure  to  me  the  defer- 
ence of  our  religious  community,  and  I  have 
now  nothing  left  to  wish  for,  but  to  hear  of 'your 
happiness,  and  that  of  your  dearest  children. 
Forgive  me,  my  dear  Maurice,  and  believe  me, 
that  I  am  now  not  entirely  unworthy  of  your 
affection,  though  I  do  not  conceal  from  myself, 
that  pride  and  vanity  have  left  a  trace  of  cold- 
ness in  my  disposition,  but  I  have  suffered 
much. 

"  I  have  made  up  a  little  fortune  for  my  pret- 
ty niece,  and  hope  you  will  entrust  her  to  my 


183 

care.  Rory  (poor  Rory  is  grown  as  grave  as 
the  gravest  of  our  religious,)  shall  go  to  con- 
duct her  hither.  Indeed  she  will  not  be  well 
in  Ireland ;  she  will  there  suffer,  as  I  have  done, 
from  an  equivocal  situation*.  Were  she  merely 
a  labourer's  daughter,  she  might  be  happy;  but 
with  pretentions  of  a  superior  rank,  her  feelings 
will  always  be  fretted  by  the  inconsistencies  of 
her  situation.  Here  her  rank  will  be  acknowl- 
edged, her  fortune  respectable,  and  she  will  be 
at  ease  in  society.  I  know  what  it  will  cost 
you  to  part  with  her,  but  if  I  can  guess  a  parent's 
heart,  you  would  yourself  suffer  any  thing  for 
her  good. 

"  The  merchant,  who  takes  this,  does  not  go 
for  another  day,  so  as  I  know  you  will  be  inter- 
ested in  my  beloved  patroness,  the  queen.  I 
will  relate  to  you  how  she  at  length  liberated 
herself  from  the  tyranny  of  the  duchess  de 
Terra  Nova. 

"  The  queen  had  two  parrots,  which  she  lov- 
ed extremely,  as  she  had  brought  them  with  her 
from  France.  The  duchess,  who  had  already 
made  the  king  jealous  of  every  thing  connected 
with  France,  thought  she  should  do  a  work 
very  agreeable  to  him  by  killing  them,  because 
the  words  they  spoke  were  French. 

"  One  day,  when  the  queen  went  to  walk, 
the  duchess,  to  avoid  going  with  her,  and  in 
order  to  put  her  design  into  execution,  feigned 
indisposition.  She  demanded  the  parrots  of  the 
woman  that  looked  after  them,  and  as  soon  as 
she  had  got  them  in  her  hands,  wrung  off  their 


184 

necks,  in  spite  of  all  the  prayers  and  entreaties 
that  were  used  to  prevent  her  from  killing  them. 
This  was  a  great  affliction  to  the  poor  French 
woman,  who  waited  on  the  queen;  who,  when 
she  came  back  to  her  apartment,  commanded 
them  to  bring  her  parrots  and  dogs,  as  was  her 
custom  when  the  king  was  not  present,  for  he 
could  not  endure  any  of  these  little  creatures, 
because  they  came  from  France,  and  whenever 
he  saw  them  he  cried.  '  Fuera,  fuera,  perros 
Frances!5  that  is  cget  out,  French  dogs!'  All 
the  queen's  women,  instead  of  going,  looked 
upon  one  another,  and  continued  immoveable, 
afraid  to  speak.  At  last,  when  desired  to  go 
again,  one  of  them  gave  an  account  of  the  exe- 
cution, which  the  camerera  had  made  of  them. 
She  would  not  let  her  women  observe  her  con- 
cern, and  dismissed  them  ;  but  as  soon  as  the 
duchess  entered,  and  according  to  custom  came 
to  kiss  her  hand,  the  queen,  without  speaking  a 
syllable  to  her,  and  before  she  was  aware,  gave 
her  two  smart  boxes  on  the  ear  with  her  hand. 

"  Never  was  any  created  thing  in  such  rage 
and  amazement  as  the  duchess  ;  for  she  was  the 
most  haughty  and  imperious  woman  living,  pos- 
sessed, as  I  said  before,  of  a  kingdom  in  Mexico', 
and  carried  as  much  state  and  grandeur  as  a 
queen.  And  now  to  be  buffetted  by  a  young 
person,  whom  she  had  hitherto  treated  like  a 
child,  was  insupportable.  She  flew  out  of  the 
room,  saying  all  the  impertinent  things  that 
anger  suggested ;  and  assembled  together  her 
relations  and  friends,  and  above  four  hundred 
ladies.  With  a  numerous  train  of  coaches,  she 
came  to  the  palace  to  dernand  justice  of  the 


king  for  the  affront.  She  made  so  great  a  cla- 
mour, and  shed  so  many  tears,  that  he  sent  for 
the  queen  to  come  to  him  ;  and  as  he  began  to 
represent  to  her  the  impropriety  of  her  con- 
duct, and  the  high  rank  the  camerera  mayor 
held  in  the  world,  the  queen  interrupted  him, 
and  said  calmly, '  Senor,  esto  es  uno  antojo.' 

"  These  few  unexpected  words  instantly 
changed  the  face  of  affairs.  The  king  embrac- 
ed her  with  a  thousand  testimonies  of  joy,  ad- 
ding, that  she  had  done  very  prudently,  and  that 
if  two  blows  did  not  satisfy  her,  he  consented 
that  she  should  give  the  duchess  two  dozen 
more. 

"  Now  '  antojo1  signifies,  in  Spanish,  the 
longing  of  a  pregnant  woman  ;  and  they  are,  it 
seems,  convinced  by  the  course  of  experience, 
that  if  women  pregnant  in  this  country  have  not 
what  they  desire,  they  are  delivered  before 
their  time  of  a  dead  infant.  The  king  was  de- 
lighted, and  though  he  had  a  great  kindness  for 
the  duchess,  he  entirely  approved  of  the  queen's 
action.  The  queen  had  the  address  not  to  take 
the  least  notice  of  the  death  of  her  parrots,  so 
that  she  gave  the  king  no  reason  to  imagine, 
that  her  '  antojo'  for  boxing  the  duchess  pro- 
ceeded from  her  own  resentment ;  but  the 
duchess,  who  knew  very  well  the  truth,  finding 
she  could  get  no  redress,  and  incapable  of  bear- 
ing the  affront,  retired  from  court,  and  was  suc- 
ceeded by  the  duchess  d' Albuquerque. 

"  I  have  written  by  the  same  person,  who 
carries  this,  to  father  O'Brien.  He  wiJJ  rejoice 


186 

to  hear  of  my  present  situation,  and  I  yet  hope 
that  I  may  have  the  great  satisfaction  of  seeing 
him  and  you,  my  dear  brother,  in  this  country. 
If  I  could  accomplish  the  possession  of  your 
little  girl,  I  should  have  great  hopes,  arid  I 
almost  feel  convinced,  that  you  will  let  me  have 
her.  Once  more,  God  bless  you  all,  and  fare- 
well. Often  and  often  the  tears  fall  from  my 
eyes,  when  I  think  on  the  cottage  where  we 
passed  so  many  innocent  days,  and  I  find  it 
impossible  to  tear  from  my  heart  the  sad  re- 
membrance of  our  ill-fated  country.  I  confess 
this,  even  when  1  reserve  my  last  request,  to 
entreat  you  and  father  O'Brien  to  remove  to 
this  country  ;  I  am  not  sanguine  of  success,  but 
surely  you  might  come  to  pay  me  a  visit,  and 
need  not  depend  upon  my  representation  ;  and 
if  you  did,  I  think  you  would  stay  with  me ;  for 
yourself,  perhaps,  it  might  not  be  pleasant,  but 
for  your  children  it  would  be  most  desirable. 

"  Once  more  farewell,  from  your  evermore 
affectionate,  loving  sister, 

UNA, 

Princess  Hi  Sullivan  Bere, 
—born  Hi  Nial." 

This  is  the  letter,  which  had  given  my  belov- 
ed Maurice  so  much  satisfaction,  and  had  fixed 
his  mind  to  commit  his  children  to  his  sister's 
care.  I  note  not  Una's  letter  to  myself,  as  it 
related  to  her  most  inmost  thoughts,  and  was  to 
be  held  sacred  ;  but  I  may  say,  that  it  showed 
a  noble,  and  generous,  and  affectionate  mind, 
after  a  short  aberration,  restored  to  the  upright 
rectitude  of  feeling,  which  nature,  and  the  God 


187 

of  nature,  had  implanted  in  it.  Neither  will  } 
insert  the  letter  I  received  from  Una,  when 
I  sent  her  an  account  of  her  brother's  death  ;  I 
am  eased  of  a  weight  in  having  no  more  sor- 
rows to  rehearse.  Una  dispatched  Rory  with- 
out delay,  and  I  was  rejoiced  in  having  the 
faithful  creature  once  more  under  my  roof. 
He  cried  like  a  child  the  first  day,  but  the  sight 
of  the  children  soon  revived  him  ;  and  they 
were  equally  taken  with  him,  for  he  had  a  gen- 
tle, soft,  coaxing  voice,  and  though  he  was 
grown  grave  and  staid  in  appearance,  he  was 
very  much  of  a  child  at  bottom.  He  was  par- 
ticularly delighted  with  Geraldine,  and  soon 
bestowed  on  her  all  the  affection  he  had  borne 
her  mother. — "  Blessed  hour  !"  he  would  say 
to  me,  "  who  could  have  dreamt  to  have  found 
that  baby  like,  that  I  left,  grown  a  fine  woman, 
and  such  as  all  the  court  of  Madrid  cannot 
liken  ?  certain  and  sure  I  am,  that  the  princess 
will  go  out  of  her  wits  when  she  beholds  her." 
Then  he  would  walk  to  the  rocks  with  the 
children,  and,  sitting  down,  entertain  them  for 
whole  hours  with  accounts  of  what  their  father 
and  Hi  Sullivan  did  when  they  were  young ; 
and  such  was  the  strength  of  his  memory,  which 
was  quite  that  of  a  Seannachie,  that  he  would 
repeat  whole  conversations  without  appearing 
to  miss  a  word.  The  children  were  quite  fas- 
cinated with  him,  and  I  encouraged  their  fond- 
ness, as  1  knew  Rory's  perfect  worth,  and  it 
made  their  traject  to  Spain  so  much  more 
agreeable.  Only  Geraldine  complained  to  me, 
that  Mr.  Rory  was  so  cross  to  poor  Merritt ; 
indeed  Merritt  never  came  near  him  but  he 
sent  him  away  with,  "get  out  from  that,  can't/ 


188 

ye !"    as  if  he  were  speaking  to  an  intruding 
animal. 

At  length  the  day  of  their  departure  arrived. 
I  had  hired  a  ship  purposely  to  convey  them, 
with  suitable  domestics  for  Geraldine,  and  every 
thing  else  befitting  the  rank  they  would  have  to 
resume  in  Spain.  Great  was  Rory's  delight  to 
see  the  splendid  change,  and  complete  would 
have  been  his  triumph,  but  for  the  pain  which 
would  cross  his  heart,  when  a  thought  occurred 
of  the  castle  of  Berehaven,  and  generous  Hi 
Sullivan. 

Rory,  I  knew,  would  not  leave  Ireland  with- 
out visiting  Hi  Sullivan's  grave  ;  and  as  I  wished 
the  children,  before  they  abandoned  their  coun- 
try, should  visit  that  of  their  mother,  I  deter- 
mined to  accompany  them  as  far  as  Arklow, 
and  put  in  there  for  a  few  days,  sending  my 
horse  by  land  to  meet  me. 

We  had  a  pleasant  sail,  as  the  children,  well 
used  to  be  on  ihe  sea  at  Rahery,  were  not  sea- 
sick. They  had  been  brought  up  to  adore  the 
memory  of  their  mother,  and  were  themselves 
much  afflicted,  when  they  beheld  the  spot 
where  she  was  buried  ;  and  Rory  burst  forth 
into  all  the  wild  vociferations  of  Irish  grief,  as 
he  threw  himself  on  the  sod,  that  covered  the 
grave  of  Hi  Sullivan  ;  yet  I  doubt  not  but  a 
more  dolorous  pain  cut  my  heart,  as  these 
scenes  brought  before  me  the  dear  friends  that 
I  had  lost. 

Our  parting  was  sad  enough,  but  as  I  had  de- 


189 

termined  to  visit  them  and  Spain  the  ensuing 
year,  there  was  the  less  bitterness.  Dear 
children,  I  still  see  them  on  their  knees,  asking 
my  blessing,  I  still  see  Geraldine  fainting  in  her 
brother's  arms,  as  my  boat  moved  from  the 
ship.  O  may  the  blessing  of  a  sorrowing  old 
man  be  prevalent !  and  ye  shall  be  truly  blest, 
darlings  of  my  heart ! 

I  now  returned  to 'my  deserted  home,  but  still 
every  evening  I  cheered  my  thoughts  with  the 
prospect  of  visiting  Spain,  and  reckoned  the 
time  when  I  might  hope  to  receive  a  letter.  I 
busied  myself  in  settling  all  their  affairs  with 
Mr.  Mapleton,  who,  after  converting  the  whole 
property  into  money,  according  to  Maurice's 
desire,  had  raised  near  one  hundred  thousand 
pounds  :  this  I  desired  him  to  lodge  in  the 
hands  of  the  Spanish  ambassador  in  London,  to 
be  remitted  to  Una,  on  the  children's  accounts, 
which  wras  all  faithfully  and  punctually  per- 
formed. 

In  two  months  time,  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  from  Una  of  the  safe  arrival  of  my 
dear  children  ;  she  was  enchanted  with  them, 
and  could  not  finds  words  to  tell  the  love  and 
admiration  she  felt  for  Geraldine.  I  heard 
from  her  again,  giving  an  account  of  the  bril- 
liant fate,  that  had  awaited  them. — To  this  per- 
haps the  knowledge  of  the  magnitude  of  their 
fortune  did  not  a  little  contribute. — The  boys, 
in  right  of  their  father,  had  the  title  of  Prince 
acknowledged,  and  the  rank  of  Grandees  of 
Spain  superadded.  And  they  and  Geraldine 
received  much  courtesy  from  the  Spanish  Court, 


190 

But  their  minds  were  too  temperate  and  domes- 
tic, to  be  allured  by  gewgaws  ;  and  finding  a 
pleasant  retreat  in  a  valley,  watered  by  a  clear 
stream,  and  fragrant  with  orange  trees,  they 
purchased  there  an  estate,  and  occupied  them- 
selves in  its  improvement. — I  did  not  reach 
Spain  so  soon  as  I  had  intended  ;  some  parish  af- 
fairs, and  the  disappointment  in  meeting  a  ship, 
detaining  me  till  more  than  a  year  was  past,  but 
the  following  letter,  which  I  received  from 
Una,  at  length  made  me  set  off  in  haste. 

"  My  dear  and  reverend  friend, 

"  You  must  not  delay  a  day,  but  do  not  turn 
to  the  end  of  my  letter,  to  know  why,  but  take 
the  account  in  due  order. 

"  I  told  you  of  the  impression  that  our  chil- 
dren made  at  court.  Geraldine  has  grown  ever 
since  more  and  more  a  favourite  with  the 
queen  ;  but  Geraldine  returns  the  affection  but 
coldly.  She  is  content  to  stay  in  the  queen's 
private  apartment,  and  as  she  speaks  French  so 
fluently,  the  queen  takes  great  delight  in  conver- 
sing with  her  ;  but  nothing  can  overcome  her 
repugnance  to  the  public  court,  and  her  heart 
is  always  with  her  brothers  at  Villambrosa,  for 
they  have  retired  almost  entirely  from  court, 
and  as  soon  as  she  can  get  the  queen's  permis- 
sion and  mine,  she  speeds  away  to  *them. — I  do 
not  complain,  for  she  prefers  me  and  my  con- 
vent to  the  queen  and  her  court. — The  queen 
perceives  ft  too,  for  she  said  one  day  to  me 
laughing,  '  I  wish  I  had  been  born  an  Irish  shep- 
herdess, and  then  your  beautiful  niece  might 
have  loved  me.'  The  queen  told  me,  that  though 


.' 


191 

Geraldine  rarely  appeared  at  court,  yet  all  the 
young  lords  were  competitors  for  her  hand,  and 
she  herself  had  been  solicited  on  all  sides  by 
their  relations  to  interfere  in  their  favour.  The 
rank  that  Geraldine  bore  at  court,  and  her 
large  fortune,  would  alone  have  been  sufficient 
to  produce  this  effect ;  but  her  uncommon  beau- 
ty, the  uncommon  softness  of  that  beauty,  and, 
above  all,  the  gentleness  and  modesty  of  her 
demeanour,  had  inflamed  the  passion  of  these 
young  courtiers  to  an  enthusiasm  amounting  to 
madness  ;  '  and  I  must  soon,  (added  the  queen,) 
call  on  Geraldine,  to  make  her  choice,  or  this 
rivalry  may  have  painful  consequences. — But  I 
do  not  know  how  Geraldine  is  to  make  a  choice, 
for  1  am  certain  she  has  never  looked  one  of 
them  in  the  face  yet,  nor  ever  voluntarily  ex- 
changed a  sentence  beyond  what  politeness  ex- 
acted.— When  I  send  her  from,  me,  she  takes 
refuse  under  the  duchess  D' Albuquerque's 
wing,  where  she  knows  they  dare  not  come ; 
she  casts  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  and  either 
her  memory  is  very  bad,  or  she  attends  to  these 
things  very  ill,  but  I  cannot  find,  that  she  learns 
any  of  their  names  ;  and  when  I  question  her 
about  them,  she  makes  all  kinds  of  ludicrous 
mistakes.  However,  you  must  prepare  her  soon 
to  make  a  choice,  nor  ought  she  to  complain. 
I  had  no  choice,  and  was  obliged  to  quit  for 
ever  dearest  and  ever  lamented  France.' 

"  I  replied,*that  c  Geraldine  knew  her  duty 
too  well,  to  have  any  repugnance  to  conduct 
herself  according  to  the  wishes  of  her  friends  ;' 
and  the  queen  departed,  saying,  that  nothing 
would  give  her  more  pleasure,  than  to  see  Ger- 
aldine married  equal  to  her  merit. 


192 

"  It  was  now  time  to  speak  to  Geraldine  ou 
the  subject  ;  she  heard  me  at  first  with  tears 
and  alarm  ;  but  when  I  had  convinced  her,  that 
the  queen's  wishes  were  reasonable,  in  unison 
with  mine,  and  accordant  with  the  duties  of  her 
station,  she  composed  herself,  and  declared  her 
willingness  to  comply.  I  asked  her,  if  she  had 
any  preference ;  she  said,  that  she  had  not  no- 
ticed particularly  any  of  the  young  lords  she 
had  seen  ;  but  there  was  one  whom  she  had  not 
seen,  at  least  not  his  face,  whom  she  should 
choose,  if  she  was  called  on  so  early  in  life  to 
make  a  choice. 

"  And  now  I  will  tell  you  the  only  piece  of 
romance,  that  has  occured  in  Geraldine's  histo- 
ry. Whenever  she  has  been  at  Madrid,  she 
has  been  in  the  habit  of  attending  the  hospital 
of  Santo  Domingo  ;  it  was  a  duty  that  accord- 
ed with  her  benevolent  and  pious  disposition, 
and  as  people  of  rank  visited  there  occasional- 
ly masked,  1  saw  no  impropriety  in  her  attending 
daily,  while  she  was  with  me.  She  always  went 
veiled,  and  Rory  accompanied  her.  Among  the 
patients  whom  she  attended,  there  was  a  poor 
woman,  who  fixed  her  attention  by  her  uncom- 
mon resignation  under  a  painful  disease ;  and 
when  Geraldine  asked  her,  if  she  could  do  any 
thing  for  her  to  mitigate  her  sufferings,  the  poor 
woman  looked  wistfully,  and  after  a  pause  said, 
*  You  have  been  so  good  to  me,  I  will  say,  that 
I  should  have  no  want  or  wish,  if  you  would 
read  to  me,  only  for  ten  minutes,  a  book  of  pray- 
ers, or  the  word  of  God.' 

You,  who  are  acquainted  with  Geraldine,  will 
know  how   readily  she   complied  ;  and   every 


193 

day  for  an  hour,  or  three  hours,  as  she  found 
leisure,  would  she  sit  by  the  poor  woman's  bed- 
side, and  read  to  her  the  Scriptures.  She  nev- 
er imagined  she  was  observed,  as  she  sat  in  an 
obscure  corner  of  the  room,  and  it  was  common 
for  different  pious  persons  to  attend  the  sick 
like  herself  in  disguise.  And  that  there  might 
be  less  chance  of  her  being  noticed,  she  wore 
the  same  dress  as  the  attendants,  when  she  vis- 
ited the  hospital. 

"  One  day,  the  windows  having  been  closed 
to  exclude  the  light,  which  was  painful  to  some 
of  the  patients,  she  borrowed  a  taper,  and  as  she 
read  with  her  head  leaning  down,  her  veil 
caught  fire,  and  she  might  have  been  much 
burnt,  but  that  a  gentleman  in  a  mask,  who  had 
also  been  attending  the  sick,  had  stopped  to  ob- 
serve her,  and  instantly  as  he  saw  the  blaze  tore 
the  veil  from  her.  Geraldine  stood  affrighted 
and  ashamed  ;  but  the  cavalier,  when  he  found 
her  unhurt,  withdrew  with  great  delicacy,  and 
returned  with  a  veil,  which  he  had  borrowed 
from  one  of  the  attendants,  and  threw  it  over 
her  head.  Geraldine  departed  in  some  confu- 
sion, forgetting  to  bring  away  her  Bible,  and 
was  so  much  disconcerted  at  the  accident,  that 
she  was  some  days  before  she  could  resolve  to 
go  again  ;  at  last,  feeling  for  the  loss  the  poor 
woman  would  have  of  her  now  customary  gra- 
tification, she  determined  to  go  again,  disguising 
herself  more  carefully.  When  she  arrived,  she 
said  to  her  patient,  '  I  am  afraid  you  have  been 
at  a  loss  these  three  days  for  the  comfort  this 
good  book  affords,  and  I  blame  myself  for  not 
having  come  sooner.'  The  woman  replied,  that 
17 


she  should  have  missed  her  more,  but  that  the 
good  signor.  who  had  prevented  her  from  being 
burnt,  had  come  every  morning  to  read  to  her. 
and  said,  that  he  came  early,  that  1  might  have 
the  benefit  of  your  reading  too. 

Geraldine  felt  the  delicacy  of  this  conduct ; 
but  as  she  has  that  excellent  upright  sense, 
which  never  imposes  on  itself,  she  at  once  saw 
the  necessity  of  returning  no  more  to  the  hos- 
pital ;  as  the  cavalier  did  not  only  come  occa- 
sionally, but  made  a  practice  of  coming ;  and 
as  the  woman  was  now  advancing  to  recovery, 
she  could  do  this  with  less  regret.  She  there- 
fore left  some  money  with  her,  and  told  her 
when  she  was  recovered  to  inquire  for  me  at 
the  convent,  and  she  would  give  her  further  as- 
sistance. She  then  took  up  the  Bible  and  re- 
turned. When  she  came  to  the  convent,  and  laid 
the  book  on  the  table,  it  struck  her  that  it  was 
not  her  own.  She  examined  it,  and  looking  to 
the  blank  leaf,  corresponding  to  the  one  where 
her  name  was  written,  found  it  was  not  ;  and 
also  sufficient  evidence,  that  hers  had  been  ta- 
ken, and  this  left  in  its  place  designedly  :  for 
corresponding  to  where  her  name  had  been 
written,  was  written  the  name  of  the  duke  D'- 
Uuzeda  ;  where  her  age,  his  age  ;  where  the 
place  of  her  birth,  and  the  names  of  her  pa- 
rents, the  same  of  his  ;  with  an  affectation  of 
similarity  in  the  position  of  the  lines  :  and  as 
she  had  written  a  couple  of  French  verses,  ad- 
dressed to  her  mother  to  guard  and  guide  her, 
he  had  composed  a  similar  one,  with  a  slight  va- 
riation of  the  sentiment.  This  confirmed  Ger- 
aldine in  her  resolution  of  not  going  again  to  the 


195 

hospital,  She  mentioned  the  circumstance  to. 
me ;  and  I  approved  of  her  conduct,  and  per- 
ceiving that  the  accident  had  made  no  impres- 
sion on  her  imagination,  which  had  no  tincture 
of  romance,  I  did  not  even  inquire  about  the 
duke  D'Uuzeda.  However,  as  Geraldine  now 
said,  that  if  the  queen  called  on  her  to  decide, 
with  no  better  opportunities  of  judging  than 
what  she  had,  and  as  I  told  her  the  duke  was 
unmarried,  she  said  she  certainly  would  givq 
him  a  preference. 

"  I  determined  to  inquire  the  next  day  res- 
pecting his  circumstances.  However  the  queen 
did  not  give  us  time ;  with  that  impetuosity  in 
urging  on  whatever  they  desire,  and  that  re- 
gardlessness  of  other  people's  feelings,  which 
marks  the  most  amiable  of  princes,  when  their 
own  wishes  are  to  be  gratified,  she  summoned 
Geraldine  to  court  the  next  day.  and  sent  her 
carriages,  and  the  duchess  d' Albuquerque  to 
conduct  her. 

"  When  Geraldine  appeared,  the  queen  with 
little  ceremony  announced  her  intentions  ;  and 
telling  Geraldine,  with  many  compliments,  that 
there  was  not  a  single  young  lord  of  the  court 
but  what  aspired  to  obtain  her  hand,  bid  her 
choose  whomever  she  would  prefer  for  a  hus- 
band ;  '  Here  is  a  list  of  their  names,'  said  her 
majesty  smiling,  'but  as  I  believe  you  have 
scarcely  deigned  to  know  them  by  name,  I  have 
assembled  them  all  here,  in  case  you  know  their 
faces  better.' 

"  Geraldine  replied  without  raising  her  eyes 


196 

from  the  ground  ;  '  your  majesty's  commands 
are  sufficient  to  excuse  in  me  what  otherwise 
would  be  deemed  unusual  presumption.  In  obe- 
dience to  these  I  name  the  duke  D'Uuzeda,  if 
his  grace  will  condescend  to  accept  the  poor 
offer  of  my  duty.' 

Here  Geraldine's  limbs  nearly  failed  her  ;  but 
the  queen  herself  supported  her,  and  cried  to 
the  duke,  who  rushed  forward  ;  '  stop.  D'Uuze- 
da, perhaps  here  is  some  mistake,  and  I  do  not 
mean  that  the  princess  Hi  Nial  should  be  a  vic- 
tim to  her  obedience.' 

"  '  Do  you  know,'  continued  she  to  Geral- 
dine,  '  that  the  duke  is  absolutely  without  for- 
tune, and  therefore  never  pretended  to  your 
hand  ?' 

"  4  No,  Madam,  I  did  not  know  that  circum- 
stance.' 

" c  Have  you  ever  seen  the  duke's  face  ?' 
"  '  No,  Madam.' 

"  *  How  came  you  then  to  know  any  thing 
about  him.' 

" '  I  saw,  said  Geraldine,  after  some  hesita- 
tion, and  sinking  in  the  queen's  arms,  ;  1  saw 
his  name  in  a  book,5 

"  At  this  reply  the  queen  burst  into  an  uncon- 
trollable fit  of  laughter,  while  in  an  instant 
prostrate  at  Geraldine's  feet,  knelt  the  most 


197 

handsome,    the   most    accomplished,    and    the 
most  virtuous  nobleman  of  the  Spanish  court. 

"  It  was  not  long  before  I  was  summoned  t<5 
attend  her  majesty ;  she  received  me  in  her  pri- 
vate apartment,  told  me  what  had  happened, 
and  hoped  that  the  duke's  poverty  would  not 
prevent  my  giving  my  consent  to  my  niece's 
marriage  with  him. 

"  I  replied,  certainly  not,  Geraldine's  fortune 
making  the  duke's  circumstances  very  imma- 
terial, if  his  character  was  good,  and  if  Geral- 
dine conceived  no  aversion  to  him. 

"  '  Then  this  is  the  most  charming  event  that 
ever  happened,'  replied  the  queen,  delighted. 
'  There  is  no  one  at  court  to  be  at  all  compar- 
ed with  D'Uuzeda  in  talents,  accomplishments, 
and  piety  ;  and  he  is  the  exact  person  I  should 
have  fixed  on  for  Geraldine,  but  I  thought  his 
poverty  an  insuperable  bar — he,  it  seemSj 
thought  so  too,  for  when  Geraldine  first  appear- 
ed, he  gazed  and  gazed  on  her  till  he  became 
passionately  enamoured  ;  but  despairing  of  suc- 
cess, he  determined  to  conquer  his  passion,  and 
abstained  wholly  from  appearing  at  court — and 
this  was  what  surprised  me,  when  Geraldine 
named  him,  for  I  was  convinced  that  she  had 
never  even  seen  him.  You  may  imagine  his 
surprise,  when  he  snatched  off  the  burning  veil 
at  the  hospital,  to  find  that  the  pious  girl,  whom 
he  had  often  stopped  to  remark  as  he  passed 
by,  was  the  lovely  object  of  his  affection.  Yet 
he  had  honour  and  resolution  enough  to  abstain 
from  taking  any  advantage  of  this  incident,  and 
17* 


198 

he  contented  himself  with  taking  possession  of 
the  Bible  she  had  left,  and  substituting  one  of 
his  own  in  its  place.  Can  you  have  a  better 
warrant  for  his  character?  and  as  for  any  aver- 
sion Geraldine  may  have  for  him,  step  this  way,' 
continued  the  queen,  and  she  opened  a  folding 
door,  and  presented  to  view  Geraldine  sitting 
quite  composedly  by  the  side  of  the  duke 
D'Uuzeda  on  a  low  sopha,  with  her  hand  lock- 
ed in  both  of  his. 

"  Come  then,  dearest  Sir,  for  Geraldine 
absolutely  refuses  to  be  married  by  any  one  but 
yourself,  not  a  Cardinal  or  Archbishop  will  con- 
tent her,  and  on  this  point  neither  queen,  nor 
aunt,  nor  lover,  have  any  power  to  move  her. 
But  I  enclose  a  short  note  from  her,  which  I 
dare  say  will  have  more  effect  with  you,  than 
my  long  epistle. 

Ever  your  asssured  friend, 

UNA, 

Princess  Hi  Sullivan  Bere. 
—born  Hi  Nial." 

Geraldine^s  Mote. 

"  Dearest,   most  beloved  Father, 

''  I  did  not  think  that  I  could  have  made 
so  many  people  happy,  and  if  you  approVe  my 
conduct,  I  shall  have  nothing  to  desire.  The 
charming  queen  thanks  me,  as  if  I  had  really 
sacrificed  my  inclinations  to  her  wishes ;  my 
aunt  is  more  tender  and  affectionate  than  ever, 
my  brothers  dote  on  the  duke  d'Uuzeda,  and  he 
is  in  raptures  with  them.  They  have  already 
undertaken  to  bring  his  estate  into  cultivation. 


199 

you  know  what  excellent  farmers  they  are; 
even  Rory  has  recovered  his  youth  and  spirits, 
and  is  beyond  all  measure  proud,  because  the 
Duke  will  allow  no  one  else  to  attend  about  his 
person.  And  yet  I  am  often  obliged  to  leave 
them,  and  go  to  my  closet  and  weep,  when  I 
think,  that,  had  it  pleased  God,  my  father  might 
have  witnessed  the  happiness  of  his  poor  girl ; 
but  he  does  witness  it,  and  I  will  indulge  this 
weakness  no  more. 

"  My  aunt  has  showed  me  her  letter,  and  I 
wish  nothing  altered  in  it,  but  an  expression 
that  implies,  that  I  can  love  any  one  much  bet- 
ter than  herself;  indeed  it  is  not  the  case,  every 
one  adores  her,  much  more  the  unprotected 
girl,  who  has  found  in  her  the  tenderest  of 
friends,  and  the  most  anxious  of  mothers  ;  come 
then,  my  dear  Sir,  for  nothing  but  your  presence 
is  wanting  to  complete  our  happiness. 

Your  lovingly  attached 

GERALDIXE." 

You  may  imagine,  that  after  these  letters  the 
wind  did  not  blow  long  between  me  and  Spain. 
I  left  Merrill  to  the  care  of  a  trusty  domestic, 
and  travelling  to  Cork,  soon  found  a  vessel  about 
to  sail  for  Spain.  We  had  a  speedy  and  favour- 
able voyage.  We  landed  at  Corunna,  and  I 
was  no  great  time  in  reaching  Madrid.  It  \vas 
almost  too  much  for  me  to  hold  again  in  my 
arms  my  loving  and  beloved  children.  When 
Una  and  I  retired,  we  both  wept  over  the  days 
that  were  departed,  but  she  was  soothed  by  the 
warm  approbation  I  bestowed  upon  her  conduct. 


^00 

She  was  still  in  all  the  pride  of  her  beauty, 
looking  blooming  and  young ;  but  it  was  plain 
that  she  had  ceased  to  value  it,  and  was  vain 
only  for  Geraldine.  I  was  anxious  to  see  the 
Duke  d'Uuzeda,  for  I  could  not  be  satisfied 
that  he  was  worthy  of  Geraldine,  but  the  first 
sight  of  him  won  my  heart.  He  had  the  frank 
affectionate  manner  of  Maurice,  with  an  air  of 
ease  and  self-forgetfulness,  that  captivated  at 
once. 

Three  days  after  my  arrival,  I  married  them 
in  the  presence  of  the  king,  and  queen,  and 
court.  We  all  departed  the  same  day  for  Vil- 
lambrosa,  where  Rory  had  prepared  a  rural 
fete.  The  trees  blazed  with  lights,  music  re- 
sounded with  the  fall  of  the  water,  groups  were 
seen  dancing,  but  every  one  rushed  forward  to 
meet  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  the  maid- 
ens showered  flowers  before  them  ;  but  above 
all  joy  was  Rory's  joy,  who  moved  from  place 
to  place,  and  from  room  to  room,  heeding  no 
one,  but  exclaiming,  "  Oh  blessed  hour !  blessed 
hour!" 

When  I  told  of  dismal  scenes,  I  tried  to  be 
short,  but  could  not,  misery  is  so  full  of  circum- 
stance ;  but  happiness  is  fled  almost  before  it 
can  be  described,  and  I  have  now  little  left  to 

say. 

I  remained  for  three  months  in  Spain,  a  wit- 
ness of  the  most  perfect  contentment,  which 
virtue  and  piety  can  give.  My  sons  and  the 
duke  loved  each  other  entirely  ;  and  they  had 
the  satisfaction,  by  conducting  the  water  by 
many  skilful  contrivances  over  his  estate,  to 


201 

make  fruitful  what  was  before  arid  and  barren. 
They  taught  him  too,  what  a  Spanish  noble- 
man seldom  understands,  how  to  lay  out  money 
to  advantage  on  his  estate,  so  that  before  many 
years  passed,  from  being  one  of  the  poorest,  it 
became  one  of  the  most  thriving  properties  in 
Spain.  And  the  duke,  with  the  addition  of 
Geraldine's  fortune,  one  of  its  richest  noblemen. 

The  duke,  under  Geraldine's  tuition,  made 
rapid  progress  in  English,  so  that  he  could 
speak  it  passably  well  before  I  came  away  ;  this 
sad  moment  arrived  but  too  soon.  Una  and  all 
endeavoured  to  make  me  take  up  my  abode  in 
Spain,  but  I  could  not  part  from  Ireland  :  like 
the  doating  love  of  a  parent  for  a  sickly  child, 
the  more  this  hapless  country  grieved  my  heart, 
the  more  I  was  attached  to  it,  and  besides  it 
would  have  ill  become  me  to  abandon  the  du- 
ties of  my  poor  parish,  now  that  life  was  grown 
too  short  with  me,  to  enable  me  to  begin  the 
care  of  a  new  set  of  souls  with  any  chance  of 
success. 

Not  but  that  the  temptation  was  strong  ;  for, 
added  to  the  yearnings  of  natural  affection,  am- 
bition laid  its  toils,  as  the  duke  proposed  me  to 
the  queen  for  her  confessor,  and  she  assented, 
as  I  was  conversant  with  France  ;  for  the  king 
would  not  allow  her  to  retain  a  French  confes- 
sor, but  he  would  have  admitted  me  as  an  Irish- 
man, to  whom  he  and  indeed  all  Spaniards  are 
partial.  But,  as  I  said  before,  I  refused,  though 
with  sad  pain  ;  which,  however,  was  somewhat 
diminished,  when  I  found  that  darling  Geral- 
dine  had  stipulated  with  the  duke,  before  her 
marriage,  that  he  would  take  her  to  Ireland, 


202 

that  she  might  once  more  visit  me  and  her  pa- 
rents' graves. 

This  was  a  wonderful  comfort  to  me  when  I 
departed,  for  whether  it  was  the  heat  of  the 
climate,  or  probably  the  natural  progress  of  old 
age,  I  became  latterly  so  debilitated,  that  I  felt 
I  should  make  no  second  journey  to  Spain. 
I  parted,  therefore,  from  Una,  as  never  to 
meet  again,  but  as  blessed  spirits  ;  but  I  was 
satisfied  to  find  that  piety,  and  resignation,  and 
peace,  had  taken  full  possession  of  her  heart. 

Once  more  I  returned  to  my  home,  and  the 
poor  creature,  Merritt,  seemed  to  feel  joy  at- 
seeing  me  again. 

I  now  devoted  myself  with  zeal  to  my  reli- 
gious duties,  which  I  found  a  great  alleviation 
to  my  mind,  and  I  read  again  and  again  the 
sacred  gospels  and  epistles,  the  only  comfort 
there  is  for  old  age.  Yet  childishly  I  marked 
down  all  the  days  of  the  year,  at  the  end  of 
which  I  expected  my  beloved  friends,  and 
scored  off  a  day  every  evening  ;  yet  they  came 
not,  though  I  heard  of  their  welfare  and  happi- 
ness, and  I  began  to  reckon  another  year.  It 
was  at  the  end  of  this  that  I  at  last  saw,  on  a 
fine  summer's  evening,  a  ship  approach  the 
island,  with  a  yellow  flag  at  her  head,  the  con- 
certed signal  that  she  brought  my  treasures. 
The  tears  still  gush  from  my  eyes,  when  I  think 
of  the  joy  of  that  moment. 

The  children  wept  with  delight  at  once  more 
seeing  their  native  country  ;  Rory  too  was  full 


<>i  approbation  at  all  the  improvements  that  had 
taken  place  since  his  absence,  and  the  duke 
enjoyed  the  pleasure  with  which  all  seemed 
affected  ;  but  they  did  not  lose  a  moment  in 
hastening  to  their  father's  grave,  where  the. tears 
they  shed  flowed  without  bitterness.  When 
they  entered  my  house  (now  not  a  despicable 
one)  Merritt,  whom  I  had  in  my  hurry  of  spirits 
forgot  to  have  put  out  of  the  way,  happened  to 
cross  them,  and  the  moment  he  fixed  his  eyes 
upon  James  Hi  Nial,  he  began  to  shake  and  be 
convulsed,  staring  as  if  he  had  seen  a  spectre  ; 
and  when  I  hurried  them  away,  for  they  were 
all  indiscribably  shocked,  he  screamed  to  a  de- 
gree that  was  terrifying.  Even  Rory  was  mov- 
ed with  pity,  and  came  to  help  to  appease  him, 
and  we  were  forced  ever  after  to  keep  him 
remote,  which  was  not  difficult ;  for  as  long  as 
they  staid,  he  seemed  afraid  to  move  from  the 
chimney  corner  where  he  sat.  The  strong 
likeness  of  James  to  Hi  Sullivan  had  increased 
with  manhood,  and  his  complexion,  having  been 
embrowned  by  the  Spanish  sun,  made  the  re- 
semblance still  more  remarkable. 

This  was  the  only  incident  that  troubled  our 
entire  tranquillity.  My  sons  employed  them- 
selves indefatigably  in  assisting  all  our  poor 
neighbours  ;  urging  them  to  better  modes  of 
culture,  and  liberally  assisting  them  with  the 
means.  They  set  all  the  smiths  and  carpenters 
to  work  to  make  better  implements ;  they  pur- 
chased and  gave  the  better  farmers  a  finer 
breed  of  cattle  and  horses  ;  they  laid  out  drains, 
where  the  country  was  wet ;  and  led  streams 
on  levels  to  fertilize  the  grass  ground  ;  in  short 


204 

the  golden  age  seemed  restored  in  Rahery,  and 
the  poor  people  who  had  loved  their  parents, 
and  sympathised  in  all  the  extraordinary  fate  of 
this  renowned  family,  idolized  them  like  some- 
thing above  earth.  Nor  was  Geraldine  less 
indefatigable  ;  wonderfully  skilled  in  medicine 
from  her  constant  attendance  on  the  hospital  of 
Madrid  ;  wherever  sickness  was,  there  she  paid 
her  angel  visits,  and  not  only  administered  me- 
dicines, but  every  alleviation  that  money  or 
kind  counsel  could  give  ;  and  every  morning  of 
the  Sundays  she  would  read  the  Testament  to 
such  of  the  infirm,  as  could  not  attend  service  ; 
and  in  the  evening  she  collected  the  children 
of  the  district,  and  taught  them  to  read  and 
write.  Yet  their  stay  was  always  out  of  the 
question.  Even  my  sons,  though  they  doated 
on  their  native  country,  loved  the  duke  more ; 
and  their  father's  wishes  was  a  law  to  them  on 
this  subject.  All  they  attempted  was  to  make 
rne  return  and  live  in  Spain  with  them ;  for  this 
the  duke  was  pressingly  urgent,  and  Geraldine's 
wistful  looks,  though  she  said  nothing,  moved 
still  more  ;  for  they  saw  I  was  growing  too- 
infirm  to  go  again  to  Spain  with  a  view  of  re- 
turning to  Ireland.  But  I  had  now,  at  last,  de- 
tached me  from  all  considerations  of  myself,  my 
duty  was  so  clear,  to  stay  with  my  flock,  that  I 
was  resolute  in  my  refusal. 

Geraldine  was  pregnant ;  the  duke  anxious  to 
get  her  back  in  good  time  to  Spain,  as  he  would 
not  have  a  son  born  other  than  a  Spaniard.  I 
could  not  help  mourning  over  the  loss  of  another 
native  family  to  Ireland.  Alas  !  when  will 
England  permit  the  Irish  native  to  be  respecta- 


205 

ble  at  home  ?  When  will  she  do  justice  to  the 
merit  of  that  national  character,  which  of  all 
others  least  deserves  to  be  treated  with  distrust, 
severity  and  harshness  ?  I  know  this  people 
well,  and  1  can  testify,  that  there  is  no  race, 
even  to  the  lowest,  less  infected  with  the  sel- 
fishness of  depravity ;  even  the  excesses  they 
have  been  driven  to  commit,  and  God  knows 
that  they  are  pitiable  ones,  spring  from  some 
wild  and  perverted  principle,  in  which  their  own 
particular  interest  forms  no  consideration.  And 
ah,  how  generous,  how  full  of  kind  considera- 
tion, how  intelligent  are  they  in  their  peaceful 
and  happy  hours  !  and  in  the  sharp  day  of 
adversity,  how  full  of  patience,  integrity,  and 
honour,  and  faith  preserved  unspotted  unto 
death ! 

I  saw  the  day  of  separation  approach  with 
alarm,  and  even  wished  it  past,  if  it  had  been 
possible  to  wish  to  part.  Geraldine  now 
scarcely  ever  left  me,  nor  could  her  love  for 
her  husband  keep  her  long  absent  from  my  side. 
One  day,  the  duke  came  into  my  room,  where 
she  was  sitting,  but  without  taking  off  his  hat, 
seeming  inclined  to  sit  down.  "It  is  a  fine 
day,"  he  said,  "  my  father." 

"  It  is  a  gaudy  day,  my  son." 

"  The  princes,  my  brothers,  are  tired  of  me, 
because  I  cannot  be  melancholy  at  going  back 
to  Spain,  and  I  have  been  looking  for  the  person 
with  a  broken  bone,  or  a  sickness,  to  tempt 
Geraldine  to  walk,  but  they  are  all  cured." 

18 


,    206 

"  Truth,  Geraldine,  my  heart's  own,  the  duke 
had  some  reason  to  complain,  that  we  treat  him 
in  Ireland  more  like  a  friend  than  a  stranger. 
This  is  mighty  wrong  ;  for  a  friend,  is  a  friend 
for  our  own  sake,  but  a  stranger  is  a  friend  for 
God's  sake,  and  ought  to  be  more  respected. 
So,  my  love,  think  that  you  are  here  in  your 
native  country,  and  give  the  duke  more  of  the 
time,  which  you  lavish  on  a  worthless  old 
man." 

"  But  you,  will  soon  be  to  me,  as  if  you  were 
not,"  said  Geraldine,  rising  and  wiping  away  a 
tear,  yet  presenting  her  hand  with  a  smile  to 
her  husband. 

"  No,  no,  sit  down,  Geraldine.  I  know  her 
too  well.  If  I  did  not  let  her  give  all  herself 
to  you  now  ;  she  would  make  the  ship  turn 
back,  when  we  were  half  way  to  Spain,  because 
her  conscience  would  give  her  no  rest,  for  not 
having  been  sufficiently  attentive  to  you,  and  she 
would  ask  for  another  week,  to  make  amends." 

"  Her  very  angel  mother !  my  sainted  Berghet- 
ta  !"  I  exclaimed.  "  Oh  may  that  tenderness  of 
conscience  be  manifest  in  all  her  race,  which, 
while  it  reproaches  itself  for  the  least  aberration, 
is  secure  from  mortal  sin,  and  humble  withal." 

The  duke  pressed  Geraldine  to  his  breast. 
She,  the  while,  all  covered  with  blushes  of  real 
lowness  of  heart,  turned  to  me,  and  said,  "Ah, 
father,  surely,  surely,  you  would  not  say  any 
thing  to  spoil  me.  Praise  from  other  people, 
even  from  my  dear  husband,  only  appeared  to 


»6  idle  fondling,  tor  they  never  nicely  exam- 
me  themselves  or  others  $  but  you,  my  confessor, 
the  confessor  of  so  many  hearts,  approbation 
from  you  ought  not  to  be  lightly  given." 

"  Daughter,"  said  I,  rising,  and  lifting  my 
hands  to  Heaven,  and  placing  them  on  her  head, 
••  the  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  under- 
standing, possess  and  fill  thy  heart ;  for  he,  who 
early  purified  thy  mother's,  has  sanctified  it  to 
himself;  doubt  it  not." 

Geraldine  crossed  her  hands  on  her  breast, 
and  raised  her  eyes,  shining  with  a  holy  joy, 
and  we  were  silent  for  some  time.  The  duke 
was  the  first  to  speak. 

"  Did  I  not  tell  you,  loveliest,  a  multitude  of 
times,  that  you  were  the  best  of  girls  ?  you  see 
I  was  right,  and  I  hope  will  put  belief  in  me 
another  time.  But,"  continued  he,  taking  off 
his  hat,  "  I  will  not  ask  you  to  walk,  I  know 
what  will  give  you  more  delight ;  yes,  I  certain- 
ly do,  though  you  pretend  to  look  as  if  noth- 
ing would  give  you  so  much  pleasure  as  walk" 
ing  with  me. 

"  She  has  often  quarrelled  with  me,  father, 
for  being  a  hard  hearted  Christian  towards 
heretics ;  and  says  that  you  could  set  me  right 
on  this  subject,  for  that  you  have  more  wisdom, 
than  all  the  doctors  of  Madrid." 

"  Say  not  wisdom,  son  !  but  zeal,  good  will, 
earnest  desire,  and  solicitude,  to  establish  Chris- 
tian love  amongst  all  Christians  divided  by 


208 

names.  In  this  I  will  not  yield  to  any  doctor 
of  them  all,  Madrid,  Salamanca,  or  the  Sor- 
bonne." 

Geraldine  looked  delighted,  and  drawing  her 
husband  to  her  side,  made  him  sit  down. 

"  You  have  been  early  taught,  my  son,"  I 
began,  "  to  regard  what  is  called  the  Reforma- 
tion as  Satan's  work  ;  to  look  upon  our  separa- 
ted brethren  as  wilful  and  unpardonable  heretics. 
But  our  ecclesiastics  state  too  absolutely,  that 
the  Reformation  was  purely  evil.  It  was  God's 
work*  It  was  a  separation  to  be  deplored,  as  it 
affected  our  Protestant  brethren ;  but  it  was  a 
reformation  to  be  hailed  with  joy,  as  it  affected 
our  own  Church. — It  was  the  reformation  of 
Catholics,  as  well  as  of  Protestants.  Was  not 
reformation  wanting,  when  political  pride  and 
aggrandisement  infected  the  bosoms  of  our  pon- 
tiffs and  cardinals  ?  When  the  most  holy  privi- 
leges of  religion  were  set  up  for  sale,  to  sup- 
ply means  to  their  depravity,  when  a  *Pope  was 
heard  to  say, '  quantas  divitias  nobis  attulit  vetus 
ista  fabula  Chris ti  !'  was  there  not  need  for  a 
reformation  ?  Did  not  God  in  his  mercy  divide 
us  among  ourselves,  and  place  in  Protestants 
watchful  and  clear-sighted  censors  upon  our 
Church  ?  Consider  the  characters  of  our  pon- 
tiffs, cardinals,  and  ecclesiastics,  before  and 
since  the  Reformation,  and  acknowledge  the 
wisdom  of  God  in  dividing  to  save. 

"  And  after  all,  is  not  this  value  which  we  set 
upon  unity  and  conformity  exaggerated  ?  Does 

*LeoX. 


ft  not  spring  rather  from  an  attachment  to  our 
Church  than  for  our  religion  ?  What  is  the  na- 
tural effect  of  passive  assent  and  uniformity  ? 
What  but  indifference  ?  It  looks  well,  it  has  a 
fine  appearance,  and  does  to  boast  of ;  but  it  is 
spiritless,  heartless,  lifeless.  Look  at  Spain  and 
Italy,  where  you  have  most  of  it,  and  see  infamy 
of  crime  top  orthodoxy  with  its  head.  We  re- 
proach the  Protestants  with  their  sects,  though 
even  the  worst  of  them  are  faithful  Christains  ; 
but  we  do  not  notice  those  great  sects  of  Athe- 
ists and  Deists,  which  preserve  the  name  of  our 
religion,  because  they  care  for  none,  and  which 
perhaps  might  not  have  rushed  into  such  fright- 
ful extremes,  if  some  division  of  religious  opin- 
ion had  been  allowed. — No,  my  son,  I  do  not 
call  our  separated  brethren  heretics;  praise  be 
to  God  I  can  see  much  good  in  the  diversity  of 
sects,  though  I  cannot  approve  their  opinions. 
It  shows,  at  least,  that  religion  is  the  business  of 
such  men's  bosoms,  and  that  they  differ  because 
they  are  in  earnest. — Any  thing  is  to  be  prefer- 
red to  coldness  and  indifference.  I  have  in  Eng- 
land seen  a  little  chapel  raised  by  Socinians,  and 
consoled  myself  by  thinking,  that  a  great  fer- 
mentation must  have  taken  place,  before  that 
subtle  scum  was  thrown  up.  No,  my  son,  I  do 
not  hate  heretics:  I  consider  them  as  instru- 
ments in  the  hands  of  Providence,  to  shame  us 
when  we  are  corrupted,  and  to  spur  us  on  to  ex- 
ertion when  we  become  lethargic  ;  and  I  hum- 
bly hope,  that,  if  they  act  up  to  the  light  which 
God  has  granted  them,  we  shall  meet  them  in 
that  Heaven,  where  doubts  and  disputes  will  be 
no  more." 

IS* 


210 

I  spoke  with  warmth,  for  I  had  been  afflicted 
with  the  demoniac  exhibition  of  an  auto  de  fe 
in  Spain,  and  I  feared  lest  the  duke  might  have 
been  infected  with  something  of  the  spirit  of 
persecution  ;  but  Geraldine  had  already  much 
humanized  his  opinions. 

"  I  find  very  little  difficulty,"  he  said  to  me,  af- 
ter obligingly  thanking  me,  "  in  thinking  as  Ge- 
raldine does  ;  but  if  1  did,  what  you  say  with  so 
much  truth,  would  convince  me,  for  indeed  most 
of  our  Spanish  Christians  are  no  Christians -at 
all,  and  will  intrigue,  and  poignard,  and  break 
all  faith,  and  think  themselves  no  worse." 

"  In  this  country,"  continued  I,  "  we  have  no 
of  sects  to  animate  our  faith  ;  persecu- 
tion has  the  same  effect  ;  and  thus  it  is,  that 
God  knows  how  to  produce  the  best  ends,  even 
by  the  most  unpalatable  means." 

"  My  father,"  observed  Geraldine,  "  said 
he  could  love  a  Protestant  as  much  as  a  Catho- 
lic." 

The  duke  some  days  after  urged  me  with 
every  persuasion  he  could  use,  to  go  and  settle 
with  them  in  Spain.  It  was  all  that  was  want- 
ed to  make  Geraldine  happy.  I  saw  that  he 
was  preparing  to  depart,  but  my  mind  had  been 
long  made  up.  To  them  I  knew  the  loss  could 
not  be  lasting  or  great,  and  my  own  lot  I  was 
prepared  to  bear. 

The  tide  answered  in  the  morning,  the  tide 
that  was  to  bear  my  all,  all  that  I  loved  on  earth. 


211 

away.  They  arose  by  day  light,  that  they  might 
receive  the  offices  of  religion,  as  they  would 
necessarily  be  so  long  without  them  on  their 
voyage. — While  1  prepared  their  souls  for  Hea- 
ven, it  seemed  little  to  me  to  be  separated  from 
them  on  earth.  But  when  I  came  to  give  them 
my  benediction,  my  parting  benediction,  my 
foolish  old  eyes  streamed  down  with  tears.  They 
knelt  round  me.  Sense  of  jny  duty  restored  me 
my  voice.  Just  as  I  had  finished,  the  sailors 
appeared  at  the  door,  to  say  all  was  ready. 
"  They  come,"  said  I,  "  now  children  of  my 
heart,  God's  blessing  be  with  you."  I  embrac- 
ed them  one  by  one,  and  speedily,  Geraldine 
last.  My  sons,  the  princes,  wrung  my  hands, 
and  Geraldine  sobbed  on  my  bosom.  The 
duke  looked  again  to  intreat  me  to  go  with 
him. 

"  Be  of  good  cheer,  my  sons,"  I  said.  "  Ge- 
raldine, darling,  do  not  weep  so."  I  shook  my 
head  to  the  duke.  We  may  weep  to  part,  but 
Christians  should  never  part  in  despondency. 
We  shall  meet  next,  through  the  merits  of  our 
blessed  Saviour,  in  Heaven. 

I  delivered  Geraldine  to  the  duke,  who  gent- 
ly forced  her  away.  My  sons  again  threw  them- 
selves into  my  arms,  but  upon  the  sailors  enter- 
ing to  take  up  the  trunks,  they  shook  the  tears 
from  their  eyes,  and  helped  the  men  with  their 
burdens  ;  and  when  the  door  closed,  1  thought  I 
was  left  in  the  blackest  solitude  I  had  ever 
known. 

O  imbecile  nature  of  ignoble  man !  I  had  the 
society  of  God,  and  the  speedy  prospect  of 


death,  the  gate  of  Heaven.  I  betook  me  to  my 
prayers,  and  earnestly  imploring  blessings  for 
my  beloved  children,  the  fluctuations  of  my 
mind  subsided.  I  had  scarcely  ended  my  pray- 
ers, when  the  poor  old  crazy  thing  came  creep- 
ing softly  into  the  room,  looking  needfully 
about. 

"  Father!"  he  said. 

"  "What  would  you,  Merritt  ?"' 

;i  He  is  gone  !" 

"  Yes,  gone  quite  away,  in  a  ship  over   the 
sea,  to  Spain  ;  he  will  never  come  back." 

Then  he  slunk  into  the  chair  he  used  to  sit  in. 
and  renewed  his  mutter  of  "  wo   is  me  !  wo  is 


Many  hours  did  not  pass  me  by,  before  satis- 
faction and  thankfulness  rose  uppermost  in  my 
thoughts  ;  repinings  and  sorrow,  with  other 
dregs  of  worldly  carefulness,  subsided  to  the  bot- 
tom of  my  heart,  and  were  still.  Towards 
evening  I  felt,  that  I  might  indulge  myself  with 
a  last  view  of  the  ship.  Taking  nny  staff,  I  hob- 
bled up  to  the  top  of  the  rocks.  She  was  still 
plain  to  be  discerned,  bearing  away  under  a 
fair  north  wind,  and  lessening  in  the  evening 
haze. 

While  I  looked,  my  eyes  filled  joyfully  with 
tears,  when  I  considered  the  fair  lot  of  these 
jewels  of  my  affections  ;  that  with  them  world- 


213 

ly  prosperity  was  not  incompatible  with  their 
eternal  welfare,  and  that  the  good  God  might 
rejoice,  that  here  there  was  no  necessity  to  af- 
flict in  order  to  save. 

I  continued  to  look,  till  my  feeble  eyes  could 
not  even  imagine  that  they  saw  the  ship  any 
longer  ;  as  J  rose  to  go  home,  and  turned  away 
from  them  for  ever  in  this  world,  a  natural  pain 
again  cut  my  heart ;  till  I  forced  my  thoughts 
to  pass  from  the  living  to  the  dead — to  my  lov- 
ed Maurice  and  Berghetta — to  the  ever  honour- 
ed Hi  Sullivans,  father  and  son  ;  with  whom  I 
felt  that  I  had  a  nearer  interest,  than  with  the 
young  beginners  in  a  life,  that  was  closing  fast 
upon  me. 


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